PIONEERING  WHERE 
THE  WORLD  IS  OLD 


ALICE  TISDALE 


GEFT  OF 


>^' 


2J 


PIONEERING  WHERE  THE  WORLD 
IS  OLD 


»'•  •     •  •  • 

•   •  •.  •  :  • 

c     •  •  •       •    •. 

•  •  •     •       •  •" 

'  .   *  ^  »  •       I. 


There  stood  forth  the  Great  Wall  of  China. 


[pack  188] 


PIONEERING  WHERE 
THE  WORLD   IS  OLD 

(Leaves  From  a  Manchurian  Note-Book) 

BY 

ALICE  TISDALE 


ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 
BY  THE  AUTHOR 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1917 


61* 


Copyright,  1916,  1917 

BY 

THE  ATLANTIC  MONTHLY  COMPANY 
Copyright,  1917 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  November,  1917 


I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK   TO   THE 

COMPANION  OF  MY  PIONEERING— 

MY  HUSBAND 


I  should  be  loath  indeed  to  let  this  book  go  into 
print  without  some  little  acknowledgment  of  the  untir- 
ing kindness  of  my  friends.  This  book — like  many 
another,  I  imagine — would  never  have  been  written 
had  it  not  have  been  for  the  faith  and  encouragement 
they  have  so  freely  given.  I  want  to  thank  my  friend 
H.  E.  H.  for  her  unfailing  belief  in  me  and  her  timely 
and  helpful  criticism;  my  husband  for  his  continual 
delight  as  this  record  of  our  pioneering  grew  and  took 
shape,  and  for  his  assistance  in  details  of  the  geography 
and  history  of  the  country;  my  sister  for  much  and 
varied  assistance;  and  my  friend  Dr.  D.  S.  F.  of 
Columbia  University,  for  his  kindness  in  reading  proof. 


NOTE 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  state  that  this  note- 
book contains  the  record  of  the  real  experiences  of 
myself  and  my  husband.  But  in  Chapter  VIII,  I  make 
a  slight  exception.  It  might  better  be  called  a  com- 
posite experience.  In  it  I  have  sought  to  portray 
that  strange  loneliness  that  at  times  takes  hold  of  the 
happiest  of  us.  It  is  a  type  of  loneliness  peculiar  to 
those  who  live  among  an  alien  race.  To  do  this  I  have 
dravi^n  from  my  ov^rn  and  my  husband's  experiences  and 
I  have  also  drawn  from  the  experiences  of  other  people. 


PREFACE 

This  book  was  started  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  the  breath  of  open  spaces  to  the  stay-at- 
home  vagabonds.  If  it  fulfils  that  purpose  I 
shall  be  content. 

However,  as  many  things  of  world-wide  inter- 
est have  occurred  in  Manchuria  since  this  record 
was  begun,  I  should  be  glad  if  my  book  might 
also  serve  to  make  of  greater  human  interest  a 
country  whose  future,  even  more  perhaps  than 
its  past,  bids  fair  to  be  of  great  political  interest 
to  the  world. 

In  1904  Manchuria  leaped  into  its  first  political 
importance,  to  the  world,  through  the  Russo- 
Japanese  war  when  Japan  fought,  so  she  herself 
stated,  to  defend  the  integrity  of  Korea  and  the 
rights  of  the  Chinese  in  their  provinces  of  Man- 
churia against  the  aggressions  of  Russia.  Be- 
lieving as  we  did  in  Japan,  the  conclusion  was — 
as  Japan  won  the  war — that  the  political  crisis 
for  these  countries  was  over.  Henceforth  Japan 
Stood  as   their   recognized  protector  and  their 

ix. 


X  Preface 

rights  were  thus  assured  to  the  rest  of  the  world. 

But  more  than  once  since  that  time  matters 
of  grave  poHtical  interest  to  the  world  have 
occurred  in  these  countries.  In  19 lo,  despite  the 
fact  that  Japan  had  formally  guaranteed  to 
Korea's  emperor  the  security  of  his  throne  and 
realm,  Korea  was  made  subservient  to  Japan  and 
a  part  of  her  empire. 

In  Manchuria,  despite  Japan's  formal  agree- 
ment to  the  open-door  policy  (the  equal  rights  of 
trade  to  all  nations  in  China),  and  despite  the 
fact  that  she  said  she  fought  the  war  with  Russia 
because  this  open  door  was  being  closed,  Japan, 
since  winning  this  war,  has  herself  sometimes 
closed  this  door  in  the  face  of  other  nations, 
even  in  the  face  of  China.  She  blocked  the 
British-American  plan  for  the  Chin-Chow  Aigun 
railway  in  Manchuria.  She  also  blocked  a 
Chinese  project  of  like  nature:  the  Chinese 
wanted  to  employ  British  capital  to  build  the 
Hsinmuntun-Fakumun  railway,  but  Japan  would 
have  none  of  it.  But  later  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet  Japan  forced  China  to  allow  her  to 
build  the  Mukden-Antung  railway.    Then  having 


Preface  xi 

blocked  all  projects  for  railways  other  than  her 
own,  and  through  the  Russo-Japanese  war  hav- 
ing gained  control  of  most  of  the  old  railways  in 
southern  Manchuria,  Japan  proceeded  to  give 
Japanese  concerns,  in  distinction  to  Chinese  or 
foreign  firms,  special  rates  and  privileges  on 
these  railways.  Thus  the  door  of  equal  oppor- 
tunity for  trade  in  Manchuria  was  no  longer 
wide  open  to  the  world  or  to  China  herself. 
These  events  and  others  have  made  Manchuria 
leap  again  into  political  interest  to  the  world. 

Then  when  the  great  European  war  began  and 
Japan  fought  Germany  over  German  Tsingtao 
she  violated  the  surrounding  neutral  territory  of 
China.  When  the  Chinese  objected  to  such  in- 
fringement of  their  neutral  country  Japan  paid 
no  attention  to  these  objections.  Later  she 
presented  to  China  the  now  famous  twenty-one 
demands;  again  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  she 
forced  China  to  accept  the  major  portion  of  these 
demands.  Through  the  enforcing  of  these  de- 
mands, she  gained  virtual  control  over  southern 
Manchuria  by  a  ninety-nine-year  lease  of  Dalny, 
Port  Arthur,  the  South  Manchurian  railway,  and 


xii  Preface 

the  Antung-Mukden  railway ;  by  special  privileges 
to  Japanese  subjects  as  regards  their  engaging  in 
travel,  business  and  manufacture;  by  control  of 
the  mining  interests  of  Manchuria;  and  by  the 
agreement  that  whenever  a  foreign  loan  is  to  be 
made  on  the  security  of  the  taxes  of  south  Man- 
churia preference  will  be  given  to  Japanese  capi- 
talists. These,  and  other  demands  affecting 
China  within  the  wall,  inner  Mongolia,  and  Man- 
churia, Japan  wrung  from  the  Chinese  govern- 
ment under  the  threat  of  war. 

In  justifying  herself  for  such  acts,  Japan  states 
that  her  country  is  overcrowded  and  she  needs 
these  extra  opportunities  for  her  surplus  popula- 
tion. But  China  is  also  overcrowded  and  needs 
her  own  frontier.  Who  according  to  the  ethical 
laws  of  the  world  has  more  right — China  who 
owns  Manchuria  or  Japan  who  wants  it  ?  It  is  a 
wish  at  least  that  this  book  might  help  to  make 
this  country  more  than  a  chessboard  of  curious 
names  which  the  nations  move  backwards  and 
forwards;  that  instead  we  might  realize  the 
human  element  behind  these  strange,  unknown 
places. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Chapter  I 

Wherein  We  Explain  about  the  Inheritance 
of  the  '  Everlasting  Whisper '       .       .       .         3 

Chapter  II 

Things  Written  on  the  Fly-Leaf  of  My  Note- 
Book  which  Connect  up  Our  Past  with  Our 
Present 15 

Chapter  III 

My  First  Chance  at  the  Manchurian  Trail  and 
How  We  Have  an  Adventure  with  the  Red- 
Beards       21 

Chapter  IV 

Loose  Leaves  in  My  Note-Book  that  Tell  of 
Things  I  Saw  and  Thought  when  I  was 
Much  Alone  in  the  Long  Winter  .       .       .       56 

Chapter  V 
In  which  I  get  My  Heart's  Desire  .       .       .       61 

Chapter  VI 

Just  an  Odd  Leaf  in  My  Note-Book.  The 
South  Wind  Blows  ......     105 

Chapter  VII. 

The  Manchurian  Spring,  a  Junk,  and  Uncer- 
tainty          loS 

xiii 


xiv  Contents 

PAGE 

Chapter  VIII 
A  New  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier  .       .       .     131 

Chapter  IX 

We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers.  How  We  De- 
cide to  Make  a  Home  of  the  Things  of  the 
Gods  and  What  Happens      .       .       .       .150 

Chapter  X 

Of  How  We  Follow  the  Old  Custom  of  All 
Who  Come  from  *  Within  the  Wall '  and 
Make  a  Pilgrimage  Back  to  Old  Cathay  .     181 

Chapter  XI 

Summer  Rains  Again  and  Other  Knowledge 
which  They  Bring 204 

Chapter  XII 

Of  Moments  when  We  Have  Caught,  Here  in 
this  Civilization  that  is  Old  and  Simple, 
the  Spirit  of  Youth,  and  a  Lament  Over  the 
New  Era  which  Crowds  It  Out  .       .       .221 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

There  stood  forth  the  Great  Wall  of  China 

Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

Only  for  a  moment  did  we  look  out  over  the 
parapet  where  the  hills  dropped  sharply 
away  to  the  great  plains  of  Manchuria, 
spread  out  like  a  promised  land  .       .       .       i8 

Only  the  high-standing,  fresh-matting  grain- 
towers,  which  spoke  of  business  prosperity      42 

The  ferry,  as  we  grandly  called  the  mud-scow, 
slowly  worked  across  the  river  by  means  of 
poles   . 48 

For  once,  the  carts  rolled  aboard  without  their 
wheels  slipping  off  the  narrow  planks  that 
led  to  the  boat       ......       48 

We  were  again  on  our  way      ....      68 

The  inn  court-yard  with  its  hastily  built  brush- 
wood fence       . y6 

The  road  crossed  steeper  and  more  difficult 
passes 80 

His  cart  hanging  just  above  a  precipice  .       .       98 

And  we  had  numerous  accidents      .       .       .     102 

XV 


xvi  Illustrations 


FACING 
PAGE 


When  the  wind  blew,  we  sailed        .       .       .122 

When  it  stopped,  our  boatmen  towed  us  .       .     122 

The  towing  men  had  to  hold  on  like  cats       .     126 

We  knew  by  the  bronze  incense  burner,  taller 
than  a  man,  that  stood  in  the  sunshine  just 
outside  the  blue  shadow       .       .       .       .162 

And  start  on  pilgrimages  to  far-off  temples  .     182 

Worshiper  after  worshiper  recorded  his  jour- 
ney to  the  little  temple  under  whose  shadow 
we  lived 182 

I  say  we  follow  them  to  the  Temple  of  the 
Heavenly  Bamboos 186 

Out  of  which  the  parapeted  walls  of  the  city 
rose  as  a  vision  in  a  dream,  unsubstantial, 
ethereal 202 

We  reached  the  arched  gate-way  and  passed 
through  it 202 

Almost  before  we  knew  it,  our  mules  were  half 
buried  in  the  bog 210 


PIONEERING  WHERE  THE  WORLD 
IS  OLD 


CHAPTER  I 

WHEREIN      WE      EXPLAIN      ABOUT      THE 
INHERITANCE  OF  THE  '  EVERLAST- 
ING WHISPER' 

Till  a  voice  as  bad  as  conscience  rang  interminable 
changes 

On  one  everlasting  whisper  day  and  night  repeated 
...  so 

Something  hidden.    Go  and  find  it.    Go  and  look  be- 
hind the  Ranges. 

Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges.    Lost  and  waiting 
for  you.     Go! 

— ^Kipling. 

Once  we  left  our  pioneering  and  went  home 
to  America  where  people  kept  saying,  "  How  did 
you  come  to  go  way  out  there?  '*  And  we  looked 
at  each  other  perplexed.  Was  it  possible  that 
with  all  the  marvelous  new  appliances,  labora- 
tories, and  inventions  that  had  come  since  we 
went  away,  the  history  of  dreams  had  been 
crowded  out  of  our  modern  life?  Of  course 
that  would  mean  that  you  would  not  have  heard 
about '  the  whisper.'  So,  perhaps,  in  the  very  be- 
ginning, I  had  better  tell  you  of  how  Nature 

3 


.\i:  A."  jPioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

insists  on  her  pioneers  by  making  her  '  over 
yonder  go  you  there '  an  everlastingly  enticing 
voice  to  some. 

Now  this  is  not  the  history  of  those  who,  be- 
cause of  some  grim  necessity,  are  pioneering. 
They  are  Hke  the  man  Mr.  Lucas  tells  about: 
while  he  was  three  thousand  feet  above  sea  level 
in  Oregon,  where  the  snow  was  on  the  mountain 
tops  and  the  air  had  pines  in  it,  and  eagles  soared 
overhead,  he  read  and  reread  a  batch  of  old 
papers.  "  Advertisements  for  servants — he  read 
them  all.  The  very  words  *  housemaid,'  *  parlor 
maid,*  '  butler,'  gave  him  a  thrill.  They  recalled 
ham  and  eggs  and  hot  shaving  water  and  every- 
thing he  had  not  had  for  years,  and  apparently 
wanted.'*  Theirs  are  the  stories  of  heroic  fights 
against  the  loneliness  and  hardships  which  be- 
numb them,  but  they  belong  to  another  book :  for 
them  there  is  never  the  enticing  whisper.  The 
history  of  the  whisper  is  in  the  history  of  the 
vagabond  pioneers  who  see  visions,  find  gods  and 
fairies,  and,  by  some  strange  alchemy,  get  out 
of  danger  and  hardship  old  and  elemental  joy. 

There  is  really  nothing  mysterious  about  '  the 


The  'Everlasting  Whisper'  5 

whisper.*  For  generations  and  generations  as 
Nature  has  parceled  out  man's  inheritances,  she 
has  given  out  this  whisper  with  the  same  dis- 
regard to  family,  training,  or  nationality  that  she 
displays  in  giving  out  any  other  characteristic. 
There  is  one  strange  thing  about  it  all.  Although 
people  are  scarcely  ever  satisfied  with  their  other 
inheritances,  if  they  discover  that  they  have  been 
given  this  restless  spirit  they  invariably  welcome 
it  as  a  gift  from  the  gods.  If  they  find  that 
flaming  bit  of  color  of  the  restless  spirit  in  their 
scrap  bag  of  inheritance,  they  never  grumble 
even  if  they  find  Nature  has  also  tucked  in  such 
a  drab  bit  as  poor  health.  Joy  and  the  whisper, 
for  some  unaccountable  reason,  go  together. 

In  some  countries  very  few  inherit  it,  and 
every  one  talks  of  the  necessity  of  comfortable 
Hving  and  riches  and  fame.  But  in  other  coun- 
tries this  gay  irresponsible  voice  seems  to  be 
whispering  and  singing  in  the  lives  of  every  one. 
And  all  the  people  seem  a  little  young.  In  such 
a  nation  if  you  scratch  the  layers  of  comfortable 
civilization,  you  find,  almost  every  time,  a 
potential  pioneer. 


6      Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

At  one  time  we  were  such  a  nation;  the 
pioneer  blood  flowed  so  fast  in  our  veins  that 
it  was  not  enough  for  us  to  roam  through  the 
vast  expanse  of  the  new  world,  pushing  on  in 
discovery,  pushing  on  in  settling.  "  Look  alive !  " 
our  men  cried  and  scoured  the  earth  for  trade. 
Those  were  the  days  of  the  clipper-ships  and  our 
men  made  our  new  corner  of  the  world  hold 
hands  with  all  the  earth.  Then  children  at 
evening,  listening  to  the  Atlantic  beating  against 
the  shores  of  their  Massachusetts  towns,  heard 
their  mothers  tell  of  the  uncle  who  had  gone  West 
to  pioneer  and  also  of  the  uncle  who  hr.d  inherited 
so  much  of  the  restless  spirit  that  he  had  worked 
his  way  as  a  scullion  on  a  clipper-ship  bound  by 
way  of  Cape  Horn  for  China  and  Japan.  There 
were  fascinating  tales  of  how  later  he  became 
a  captain  or  took  up  trade  in  some  far-away 
mysterious  land.  And  the  restless  whisper  within 
these  children  was  fed  as  each  day  they  stole 
away  to  the  what-not  in  the  corner  where  stood 
those  forbidden  treasures, — strange  ivory  carv- 
ings, grotesque  old  gods  and  bits  of  rich  stuffs, 
all  brought  by  that  uncle  from  beyond  that  far- 


The  *  Everlasting  Whisper'  7 

away  other  ocean  that  lay  at  the  opposite  edge 
of  their  country.  And  the  dreams  of  the  explorer 
and  trader  swelled  within  them.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  in  those  days  we  were  close  seconds  to  our 
big  brothers,  the  British,  in  landing  on  the  then 
somewhat  perilous  shores  of  China,  asking  for 
reciprocity  of  trade  and  treaties;  that  later  we 
should  have  gone  to  knock  alone  on  the  closed 
doors  of  Japan.  But  that  was  the  time  of  the 
outermost  swing  of  our  pioneer  pendulum. 
After  that  we  seemed  not  so  impelled  by  'the 
whisper,'  and  the  pendulum  of  wandering  slowed 
down  and  swung  less  and  less  far. 

"  Look  at  the  far  expanse  of  your  own  coun- 
try !  "  we  began  to  say  to  our  children.  "  There 
it  lies  from  Alaska  to  Texas,  surely  a  big  enough 
place  for  all  of  you.  We've  settled  it  with  hard- 
ship and  denial;  now  we  should  like  all  of  our 
children  to  enjoy  the  fruits  and  live  in  comfort. 
But  if  you  must  pioneer,  why  pioneer  within  the 
confines  of  this,  your  own  country,  and  help  to 
develop  it."  Therefore,  it  came  about  that  there 
was  less  and  less  of  the  intermingling  of  our 
work  with  the  work  of  other  civilizations:  and 


8      Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

more  and  more  often  it  was  our  big  brother,  the 
Britisher,  found  trading  where  once  we  had  been ; 
and  Japan,  to  whom  we  had  pointed  the  way, 
came  to  take  our  place  in  shipping.  And 
still  each  generation  continued  to  say  to 
the  next,  "  Develop  your  own  country,  my 
son/' 

And  of  late  it  has  sometimes  happened  that 
when  a  son  found  within  himself  the  now 
little  understood  inheritance  of  restlessness  which 
led  him  beyond  his  own  country,  his  town  would 
sigh,  saying,  "  Another  good  American  spoiled." 
That  he  was  of  benefit  to  his  country  *  way  out 
there '  they  did  not  see.  And  once  a  congress- 
man said,  "  Let  our  consuls  live  in  tents.  Tents 
are  good  enough  for  men  who  deliberately  choose 
to  live  outside  of  their  own  country."  And 
gradually  we  have  come  to  be  more  and  more 
indifferent  to  Japan's  closing  of  the  open  door 
in  Manchuria  and  Korea — that  open  door  of 
trade  for  which  at  one  time  we  took  so  firm  a 
stand.  So  unless  you  happen  to  have  been  given 
'  the  whisper '  there  has  probably  been  very  little 
chance  for  you  to  learn  about  it.     Nowadays 


The  ^Everlasting  Whisper'  9 

it  is  not  much  talked  about  and  as  a  matter  of 
fact  it  is  not  very  fashionable. 

Nevertheless  the  gay  rover's  thread  persists 
in  appearing  in  the  fabric  of  this  and  that  one's 
life,  given  to  them  perhaps  by  a  Mayflower  great- 
grandmother  once  removed  or  a  clipper-ship 
grandfather.  Every  once  in  a  while  you  can  find 
a  child  who  is  always  laughing  at  seemingly 
nothing  but  his  own  lightheartedness.  In  reality 
he  laughs  over  *  the  whisper '  that  has  been 
slipped  into  his  inheritance,  despite  the  care  taken 
by  fond  and  indulgent  parents  who  wish  him  to 
stay  at  home.  This  child  is  very  apt  to  dream 
vagabond  dreams  over  his  spelling-book  and — I 
am  forced  to  own,  he  usually  does  not  spell  so 
very  well. 

I  was  like  that.  Where  the  rover's  spirit  in  me 
came  from  I  don't  know ;  but  it  must  have  always 
lived  somewhere  under  the  layers  of  suburban 
rectitude  of  my  childhood,  for  one  day  when  I 
was  only  five  I  declared,  "When  I  grow  up  I 
shall  either  go  to  live  in  China  or  have  rag  carpets 
on  my  floors."  There!  The  thing  had  hap- 
pened!    That  untamable  gay  little  inheritance 


10  Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 
had  cropped  out !  Already  I  was  holding  out  my 
small  hands  for  the  things  of  unconvention  and 
wandering.  To  be  sure  my  affections  were 
divided  just  then  between  the  riot  of  color  in 
a  certain  Irish  cottage  where  I  was  wont  to  spend 
delicious  stolen  half-hours,  and  the  brilliancy  of 
life  I  had  heard  depicted  by  a  returned  explorer 
who  lunched  with  us  one  day;  but  there  was 
wanderlust  even  in  that  early  confusion  of  de- 
sires. Later  I  forgot  that  declaration  of  five 
but  I  never  had  any  use  for  anything  but  the 
gaiety  and  freedom  that  goes  with  old  clothes. 
I  disliked  going  to  church,  not  because  of  the 
service  but  because  of  the  tight  gloves  I  had  to 
wear  in  that  sanctuary,  and  I  disliked  school,  not 
becau^  of  the  lessons  but  because  of  the  straight 
rows  of  desks  and  also  because  I  wanted  the 
time  for  my  dreams.  I  got  no  thrills  out  of  my 
first  gloves  and  not  many  out  of  my  best 
dress. 

Then  when  I  was  ten  'the  whisper*  came 
again,  but  this  time  it  was  not  so  debonair  for  it 
came  clad  in  the  garments  of  my  Puritan  an- 
cestors— the  somber  garments  of  stern  command. 


The  *  Everlasting  Whisper'  ii 

It  bade  me  go  as  a  missionary  to  the  cannibals. 
But  this  time,  although  I  was  sure  it  was  the 
voice  of  the  Lord,  I  tried  to  hush  it.  I  fought 
long  battles  with  it  when  I  thought  I  was  studying 
my  lessons,  and  defied  it.  But  for  a  long  time 
I  was  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  at  night  lest  vengeance 
be  taken  on  me  while  I  slept.  Then  shortly  I 
*  grew  up '  and  forgot  alike  the  burning  convic- 
tion of  ten  and  the  no  less  burning  desire  of  five. 
Those  I  considered  queer  little  fancies  of  my 
childhood.  But  that  vague  craving  was  still  there 
for  all  that  was  spacious  and  free.  Then  I  went 
to  live  in  the  city  and  I  felt  stifled  and  found  that 
there  was  no  voice  within  me,  answering  its 
turbulent,  aspiring  voice.  I  looked  with  envy  on 
those  who  heard  and  understood  its  call  until  one 
day  there  came  to  me  a  whisper :  *'  Go  and  look 
behind  the  Ranges.  Something  lost  behind  the 
Ranges.  Lost  and  waiting  for  you.  Go !  '*  I 
had  at  last  found  that  that  strange  restless 
whisper  that  had  always  been  in  my  life  was  not 
an  alien  thing  to  be  forgotten  or  neglected,  but 
my  golden  inheritance.  Whither  it  would  lead 
me — ^to  joy  or  sorrow,  hardship  or  ease — I  did 


'12    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

not  know;  but  I  did  know  that  it  pointed  out  to 
me  my  way  of  life  and  follow  it  I  must. 

And  for  the  business  man  there  was  also  *  the 
whisper/  But  for  him  there  were  no  battling 
misunderstandings:  it  came  to  him  first  in  his 
manhood  as  a  message  of  opportunity  for  the 
double  spirit  which  dwelt  within  him, — the  eager 
spirit  of  his  manhood  that  wanted  responsibility 
and  the  no  less  ardent  spirit  that  wanted  care- 
free roving.  So  he  straightway  answered  it, 
knowing  somehow  that  neither  of  his  two  selves 
would  be  denied.  Thus  each  listening  to  his 
whisper,  we  met  upon  the  road  of  our  quest  and 
went  on  together  to  pioneer  in  a  civilization  that 
is  old. 

I'll  leave  it  for  wiser  heads  to  expound  the 
values  of  foreign  trade.  But  please  don't  con- 
demn without  a  hearing  the  man  who  sells  bolts 
of  red  cloth  to  some  black  man  in  a  jungle  or 
thermos-bottles  to  the  Tu  Tuck  Tu  of  Mongolia. 
Think  kindly  of  the  trader  who  travels  by  slow 
and  tedious  means  across  six  hundred  miles  of 
desert  to  reach  that  priestly  monarch  who  buys 
a  hundred  thermos-bottles  for  his  hundred  shep- 


The  'Everlasting  Whisper'  13 

herds.  Living  in  tents,  clad  in  skins,  these  hun- 
dred shepherds,  uncouth  men  of  the  desert,  go 
forth,  each  bearing  over  his  shoulder  that  sign 
of  civilization, — that  as  yet  un-understandable 
thermos-bottle.  Perhaps  that  Russian  trader  is 
a  little  bit  ridiculous,  perhaps  he  is  a  wee  little 
bit  sublime  and  also  useful,  traveling  his  arduous 
six  hundred  miles  to  reach  the  Tu  Tuck  Tu  of  the 
desert.  But  that,  as  I  said,  I  will  leave  to  the 
learned  ones  to  prove  to  the  other  learned  ones. 
This  is  not  to  be  a  consistent  record  of  the 
traveler  with  a  zeal  for  informing  facts  but 
rather  it  is  to  be  of  the  things  that  are  of  necessity 
lost  beyond  the  ranges  of  our  industrialism,  the 
things  which  are  made  known  unto  pioneers 
and  vagabonds — ^primitive  things,  simple  things. 
These  tales  of  our  comings  and  goings,  all 
entangled  with  the  thoughts  and  fancies  that  have 
grown  up  around  our  pioneering  in  China — a 
country  which  is  so  old  that  it  possesses  much 
of  the  far-away  youth  of  the  world — are  for 
those  who  are  not  altogether  grown  up  and  who 
will  always  possess  something  of  the  spirit  of 
eternal  youth  and  love  of  adventure,  even  though 


14    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

they  labor  within  the  four  walls  of  a  shop  or 
office  or  just  now  find  their  daily  toil  amidst  the 
dirt  and  suffering  of  war.  Maybe  some  of  you 
are  pleading  as  Mr.  Britling's  son  Hugh  pleaded : 

"  So  send  me  some  books,  books  of  dreams, 
books  about  China  and  the  willow-pattern  plate 
and  the  golden  age  and  fairyland.  And  send 
them  soon  and  address  them  carefully." 

For  all  these,  wishing  eagerly  for  a  little  part 
in  the  things  made  known  unto  pioneers  and 
vagabonds,  I  am  sending  my  note-book.  I  wish 
that  I  might  send  it  by  courier — as  we  do  letters 
on  the  trail — in  Manchuria  in  order  that  it  might 
have  about  it  the  breath  of  these  open  plains  and 
be  pervaded  with  the  freshness  of  their  night 
winds;  but  America  is  a  long  way  off.  Still, 
perhaps,  even  on  such  a  long  journey,  it  may  be 
given  to  it  to  keep  something  of  the  abandonment 
of  childhood,  the  joy  of  far  stretches  of  land, 
and  ways  of  simple  living  which  always  cling 
around  our  pioneering. 


CHAPTER  II 

THINGS   WRITTEN    ON    THE   FLY-LEAF   OF 

MY  NOTE-BOOK  WHICH  CONNECT  UP 

OUR   PAST  WITH   OUR   PRESENT 

For  a  number  of  years  we  had  pioneered  in  a 
civilization  that  is  very  old, — we  have  lived  in 
various  and  sundry  places  over  the  eighteen 
provinces  of  ancient  China.  The  business  man 
in  the  East  can  only  rarely  count  on  a  settled 
abode.  That  is  why  to  be  happy  he  must  have 
a  dash  of  the  vagabond  in  his  pioneer  nature. 
We  had  long  ago  ceased  even  to  sigh  over  these 
numerous  shif tings.  How  could  we?  They  were 
always  fraught  with  such  interesting  possibilities. 
So  now  we  are  all  athrill  with  the  new  thing  we 
are  going  to  do.  We  are  going  to  start  on  a 
wholly  new  line  of  pioneering.  We  are  going 
to  go  to  Manchuria,  the  pioneer  part  of  China, 
the  land  which  is  so  much  her  frontier  that  it  lies 
outside  the  Great  Wall ! 

15 


i6    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

We  left  Peking  this  morning.  At  sunset  we 
reached  Shanhaikwan — the  last  old  city  of  the 
eighteen  ancient  provinces  of  China.  The  fate 
of  Lot's  wife  has  no  terrors  for  the  Chinese;  they 
have  all  stopped  to  look  back  over  The  Flowery 
Kingdom.  Even  the  diminutive  Eastern  train  is 
seemingly  of  the  same  mind;  without  any  ado 
it  stays  here  for  the  night,  as  if  it  were  right 
and  natural  that  a  few  hours  should  be  spent  in 
last  fond  memories  of  the  homes  of  all  the 
pioneers  it  carries. 

Leaving  behind  the  wayfarers  and  the  barren 
little  hotel,  we  started  climbing  the  hills  for  a 
glimpse  of  Manchuria,  spread  out  on  the  other 
side.  But  when  at  last  we  stood  on  the  crumbling 
grass-grown  top  of  the  Great  Wall  that  topped 
those  hills,  something  bade  us  look,  not  out  over 
the  parapet,  but  back  towards  ancient  China. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  silent  wish  of  this  old  mother 
land  impelling  us  as  it  did  her  sons  to  look  back- 
wards. She  seemed  to  say  to  us,  "  I  shall  have 
nothing  to  do  with  that  outside  land  and  I  would 
keep  my  sons  at  home  if  I  could.'* 

Here  on  the  border  she  had  brought  together 


The  Fly-Leaf  of  My  Note-Book     17 

her  treasures  to  tempt  these  sons  of  hers  to  stay 
with  her.  At  our  feet  in  the  moonlight  lay  the 
old  walled  city  of  Shanhaikwan,  offering  the  sons 
of  China  protection  within  its  gates,  the  kind  of 
protection  that  their  fathers  and  fathers'  fathers 
had  known  for  generations.  And  not  far  above 
us  we  saw,  clinging  to  the  mountain  side,  a 
temple  of  their  fathers'  faith.  We  could  dimly 
see  the  worn  stone  steps  leading  up  to  the  door- 
way and  the  tall  trees  waving  above  its  curving 
roof.  And  from  higher  and  higher  rose  the 
sound  of  temple  bells.  Some  priest  or  novice  was 
making  the  rounds  of  all  the  mountain  shrines, 
offering  incense.  Each  striking  of  the  deep- 
toned  gongs  recorded  another  offering.  Plead- 
ing, enticing,  was  their  sound  in  the  quiet  night. 
In  this  way  did  the  old  mother  land  plead  with 
her  restless  sons  to  stay  and  tread  the  long 
familiar  paths  of  safety  and  worship  made  dear 
to  them  by  association.  She  too  would  protect 
them  and  shut  out  '  the  whisper.*  There  on  the 
top  of  those  high  hills  that  hid  the  outer  world 
she  had  built  her  Great  Wall,  a  prodigious  task. 
But  it  had  neither  shut  away  others  nor  kept  the 


1 8     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

sons  at  home.  Some  three  hundred  years  ago 
from  Manchuria  the  Manchus  had  swept  down 
into  China  conquering  it.  Then  China  and  Man- 
churia became  one  kingdom,  with  sparsely  settled 
Manchuria  as  the  frontier  of  opportunity. 

Only  for  a  moment  did  we  look  out  over  the 
parapet  where  the  hills  dropped  sharply  away  to 
the  great  plains  of  Manchuria — spread  out  like  a 
promised  land.  Manchuria  was  for  to-morrow 
and  many  to-morrows.  To-night  we  shared  the 
feelings  of  those  sons  who  proudly  claimed  that 
their  ancestral  homes  were  *  within  the  Wall.' 
To-morrow  we  would  start  with  light  hearts  on 
this  new  adventure,  but  to-night  in  accordance 
with  the  time-honored  custom  of  this  country  we 
were  looking  back.  We  thought  of  each  far- 
away corner  of  this  ancient  land  where  we  had, 
at  some  time  in  the  past  years,  made  ourselves  a 
home.  We  thought  of  the  times  we  had  sat  under 
the  shadow  of  some  old  pagoda,  listening  to  the 
soft  tinkle  of  its  wind  bells;  we  thought  of  the 
days  we  had  spent  on  the  quiet  waters  of  the 
country  canals;  we  thought  of  its  thronging  cities 
with  their  old  gray  walls  and  half -overgrown 


The  Fly-Leaf  of  My  Note-Book     19 

moats,  like  the  city  that  lay  below  us  in  the 
moonlight.  It  was  an  old  land  crowded  as  full 
of  the  memories  of  dead  generations  as  of  the 
life  of  the  present — a  land  that  bade  one  loiter 
and  dream  of  all  that  fascinating  past.  What 
would  the  frontier  of  such  a  country  be  like  ? 

After  another  day,  the  ancient  China  of 
pagodas,  walled  cities,  and  over-populated  prov- 
inces was  gone  out  of  our  lives.  Manchuria  is 
no  longer  a  dream  but  a  thing  of  tremendous 
reality.  We  are  in  the  treaty  port  where  we  are 
to  live — a  place  of  a  hundred-odd  white-men*s 
houses,  clustered  together. 

The  little  plat  of  Western  life  with  its  August 
mud-baked  streets  and  its  gardens  wrested  with 
much  difficulty  from  the  salty  tide-washed  delta 
of  the  Liao,  has  a  somewhat  deserted  look  even 
in  the  most  wide-awake  hours  of  the  day.  Once 
it  was  a  thriving  treaty  port,  but  that  was  before 
the  Japanese  made  such  inroads  in  this  Chinese 
frontier.  Now  it  is  dying  as  Japan  slowly  closes 
Manchuria's  broad  doors  to  international  trade. 
Here  it  stands  not  far  from  the  ocean,  stands 


20    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

facing  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
square  miles  of  this  vast  half-tamed  frontier,  on 
the  edge  of  which  it  has  been  bold  enough  to 
plant  itself  in  the  interests  of  trade.  But  I  forget 
this  little  frontier  town  in  thinking  of  the  spa- 
cious trail  of  Manchuria  lying  just  a  few  rods 
away  at  the  edge  of  these  straggling  streets. 
This  trail  seems  to  start  at  our  very  door — so 
short  are  the  streets — leading  on  and  on,  north 
into  the  trails  of  silent  Siberia,  south  to  those 
within  the  Wall,  east  to  Mongolia's  great 
stretches,  and  west  into  Korea,  the  interminable 
trail ! 

My  memory  goes  back  to  the  glimpse  of  it 
we  have  had  this  day :  I  can  smell  again  the  salt 
marshes  which  we  passed  through,  and  see  the 
red  glory  of  the  marsh  weed  growing  on  them; 
I  see  the  never-endingness  of  its  stretches  of 
prairie  with  nothing  but  the  giant  grain  and  far 
away,  now  and  then,  a  tree  breaking  the  level 
of  the  horizon,  and  the  little  brown  villages  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  vastness — and  the  marvelous 
northern  sunlight.  This  is  Manchuria  as  we  saw 
it  to-day. 


CHAPTER  III 

MY  FIRST  CHANCE  AT  THE  MANCHURIAN 
TRAIL  AND  HOW  WE  HAVE  AN  AD- 
VENTURE WITH  THE  RED-BEARDS 

I  thought  I  had  rediscovered  one  of  those  truths 
which  are  revealed  to  savages  and  hid  from  political 
economists. — Stevenson. 

I  AM  sitting  in  the  quaint  little  office  of  our 
company  in  Harbin,  the  last  important  city  of 
China  before  one  steps  over  into  Siberia,  I, 
myself,  should  find  it  hard  to  think  of  facts  and 
figures  in  an  office  which  has  for  its  outlook  a 
curved  tile  roof,  with  curious  gargoyles  and 
dragons  holding  on  to  the  ridgepole.  I  am  sure 
that  in  such  a  place  as  this  I  could  not  put  a 
pin  through  my  mind,  sticking  it  down  to  busi- 
ness and  a  desk.  It  all  tempts  my  fancy  away 
to  fairies,  goblins,  and  suchlike  folk.  For- 
tunately for  me,  I  am  the  wife  of  the  business 
man  and  not  the  business  man  himself,  and  my 
thoughts  are  free  to  wander. 

21 


22     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

At  present  my  husband's  work  takes  him  all 
over  these  three  provinces  that  make  up  Man- 
churia and  often  I  get  my  chance  at  the  long 
trails.  Great  Manchuria !  At  once  the  hope  and 
despair  of  China !  With  its  potential  possibilities 
it  is  the  '  big  chance '  for  the  man  crowded  out 
of  the  other  eighteen  provinces.  Mongolia  and 
Manchuria  are  China's  unsettled  tracts,  and  are, 
between  them,  rich  in  all  resources.  Therein  lies 
her  peril,  for  other  nations  are  determined  to 
get  hold  of  this  border  country.  With  each 
disturbance  in  her  internal  affairs,  the  foreign 
powers  have  wrested  from  her  some  new  rights 
in  these  frontiers.  Harbin,  that  I  sit  looking  out 
upon,  is  half-Russian;  beyond  the  curved,  tiled 
roofs,  I  can  see  the  gold-domed  churches  of  the 
Russians;  they,  and  all  that  they  signify,  over- 
shadow the  city.  From  here,  the  Russians  spread 
north  and  south  over  the  land.  All  of  Man- 
churia above  the  Amur  River  is  now  a  part  of 
Siberia,  and  to  the  south,  half-way  through  the 
province,  the  Russians  hold  the  railway. 

In  the  far  southeast,  on  the  Korean  border,  is 
the  city  of  Antung;  it,  too,  is  no  longer  purely 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards     23 

Chinese.  Insinuating  themselves  among  the  sub- 
stantial buildings  of  the  natives,  are  the  frail 
Japanese.  So  does  the  Japanese  insinuate  him- 
self into  Chinese  affairs,  spreading  his  tentacles 
up  from  the  south,  farther  and  farther  each  year. 
Even  now,  his  *  railway  zone  of  influence '  ex- 
tends so  far  north  that  it  touches  that  of  the 
Russians.  The  little  man  from  the  tiny  islands 
over  the  way  wants,  and  intends  to  have,  this 
splendid  land.  He  checked  the  Russian  advance, 
but  there  is  no  one  to  stop  him,  and  his  greed 
knows  no  end.  Ah,  well,  there  is  at  least  a  little 
more  time  left  to  the  Chinese  before  the  Japanese 
bustle  in  and  take  possession,  killing  the  person- 
ality of  frontier  China  as  they  have  ruthlessly 
killed  native  life  and  customs  in  Korea.  While 
these  days  remain  we  shall  roam  here.  For  a 
little  while  we  shall  forget  such  greed.  To- 
morrow we  leave  the  warring  nations  behind,  for 
we  are  going  to  start  for  one  of  the  real  outposts 
of  the  world — even  of  Manchuria,  which  is  an 
outpost  itself. 

From  Harbin  we  go  a  day's  journey  up  the 
Sungari  River  to  Hulanho,  where  we  drop  all 


24     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

outside  communications;  then,  by  native  cart,  we 
travel  due  north  to  PeiHntzu  and  on  to  Hailun 
over  the  great  northern  plain  of  Manchuria.  A 
thousand  li  (over  three  hundred  miles)  by  the 
slowest  possible  mode  of  travel,  during  the  worst 
time  of  year,  in  a  bandit-inhabited  country :  that 
is  what  such  a  journey  implies.  We  shall  present 
our  passports  in  every  important  town,  thus  se- 
curing an  escort  of  Chinese  soldiers;  but  often 
the  escort  is  small  and  the  individual  soldier  none 
too  brave.  One  never  knows  just  what  is  going 
to  happen  next  in  this  part  of  the  globe;  therein 
lies  half  the  fascination  of  it — which  confirms  my 
suspicion  that  we  are  thorough-going  vagabonds 
at  heart. 

In  the  early  fall  in  Manchuria,  there  is  a  sort 
of  presto  change  from  farmer  into  bandit.  It 
seems  a  trifle  of  a  psychological  somersault — one 
day  a  plodding  farmer,  the  next  a  highwayman. 
After  the  tall  kaoliang,  or  giant  millet,  is  cut, 
and  escape  is  not  so  easy  over  the  bare  plains, 
another  clap  of  the  hands  and  lo,  a  peaceful 
farmer  once  more!  It  is  not  only  the  farmers 
who  play  this  exciting  game ;  many  another  staid 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    25 

member  of  the  community  has  his  little  fling. 
Some  even  combine  their  roles,  not  differentiating 
according  to  the  seasons,  but  with  the  Oriental's 
disregard  for  contradictions  a  man  is  sometimes 
bandit,  merchant,  and  magistrate  all  at  once. 

The  bandits  are  almost  as  old  as  the  country 
itself.  Long  ago  they  disguised  themselves  with 
red  beards,  in  consequence  of  which  they  have 
been  called  hung-hu-tzu  (red-beards)  ever  since. 
Once  they  were  orderly,  trustworthy  souls,  taking 
only  their  '  just  toll,'  insuring  ships  and  carts  and 
men,  and  robbing  only  those  who  were  too 
penurious,  or  possibly  too  independent,  to  pay  the 
exemption  fee.  These  bands  had  their  insurance 
headquarters  in  the  large  towns,  in  the  houses 
of  many  a  leading  merchant;  and,  as  most  of 
the  Chinese  regarded  this  blackmail  as  they 
regard  taxes  of  any  kind,  to  this  day  these 
merchants  (if  not  their  agents  who  do  the  actual 
holding  up)  move  in  the  best  Chinese  society. 
But  more  and  more  as  Manchuria  has  become  the 
borderland  of  various  civilizations,  the  ordered 
ways  of  these  brigand  bands  have  grown  dis- 
ordered; countless  farmers  and  unpaid  soldiers 


26    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

have  made  themselves  self-appointed  members, 
until,  along  all  the  main  grain  ways,  whether 
cart  roads  or  rivers,  the  little  red  flag  of  in- 
surance is  now  of  no  avail — every  man's  head 
is  turned  against  his  brother.  The  confusion  is 
made  still  greater  by  the  influence  of  those  bor- 
dering, so-called  civilized,  countries.  It  is  whis- 
pered by  those  who  know  the  inside  of  things  out 
here  that  the  Japanese  furnish  arms  and  encour- 
agement to  would-be  Chinese  robbers.  The  more 
disorder  there  is,  the  better  the  pretext  for  Japan 
to  extend  her  already  extensive  police  district. 
Furthermore,  we  cannot  be  altogether  sure  that 
the  escorts  given  us  will  not  be  in  league  with 
bandit  groups.  Strangely  enough,  in  such  a  case 
they  may  prove  the  better  protection.  If  soldjers 
who  secretly  belong  to  organized  bands  are  ap- 
pointed as  escorts  to  foreigners,  they  warn  the 
other  members  of  their  bandit  group  of  the  pass- 
port and  its  influence  with  the  powers  that  be.  It 
makes  me  feel  that  the  gargoyles  and  the  dragons 
outside  have  spirited  me  away  to  Alice's  Wonder- 
land— a  higgledy-piggledy  world  where  soldiers 
are  outlaws  and  we  seek  their  protection. 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    2J 

As  all  true  pilgrims,  we  start  with  light  hearts 
and  few  possessions.  A  native  cart  is  only  an 
oak  box  with  a  rounded  top,  latticed  sides,  open 
front,  and  plank  bottom.  This  structure,  which, 
like  Wendy's  house,  must  have  been  measured 
just  to  fit  (for  it  is  exactly  high  enough  and 
long  enough  for  one  person — if  he  be  of  medium 
size — to  sit  in),  is  set  on  heavy  oak  shafts.  The 
shafts  extend  out  in  front,  making  a  little  plat- 
form for  the  driver,  and  in  back,  forming  a  place 
for  the  luggage.  This  substantial  affair  rests, 
exactly  in  its  center,  without  a  vestige  of  springs, 
on  a  wooden  axle,  at  the  ends  of  which  the  great 
wheels  turn.  Of  necessity,  then,  we  curtail  our 
living  to  the  utmost  simplicity :  there  is  little  room 
and  less  security  for  earthly  treasure,  for  the 
springless  cart  jars  everything  into  a  more  or 
less  unrecognizable  condition.  Clothes  jostle  and 
rub  until  there  are  holes  in  them;  bottles  break, 
and  crackers  are  often  reduced  to  crumbs.  After 
many  experiments,  we  have  finally  made  our 
baggage  consist  of  a  stout,  seamanlike  chest 
holding  the  minimum  of  clothes,  a  bedding  roll, 
and  a  smaller  chest  in  which  we  store  away  a 


28     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

few  tins  of  meat,  crackers,  butter,  and  milk.  For 
the  rest  of  our  food  supplies  we  must  depend 
upon  the  country ;  chickens,  eggs,  and  rice  we  can 
always  get,  and  there  is  no  place  in  China,  no 
matter  how  far  afield  you  may  wander,  where 
you  cannot  get  a  cup  of  tea  for  a  penny  or  two. 

We  left  Harbin  this  morning  on  a  little  stern- 
wheel  paddle-boat.  To-night  we  are  in  Hulanho. 
The  boat  harbored  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men:  Russian  peasants,  Chinese  frontiersmen, 
strange  nomadic  men,  all  journeying  away  from 
the  confines  of  civilization.  All  day  the  boat, 
with  its  strange  mixed  load,  paddled  towards 
Hulanho.  The  banks,  high  as  our  heads,  shut 
us  in  to  the  speculation  of  the  crouching  men, 
who  filled  every  crack  and  crevice  without  regard 
to  comfort.  Those  Russians — were  they,  any  of 
them,  escaped  exiles?  Those  squatting  Chinese, 
silent  and  enigmatic — were  they,  perhaps,  mem- 
bers of  the  brigand  bands  that  infested  the 
region  ?  Those  nomads — like  us,  did  they  feel  a 
restless  spirit  within,  calling  them  to  new  coun- 
try?    Never  had  my  fellow-man  seemed  more 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    29 

interesting,  more  unfathomable.  Why  were  we 
all  there,  and  whither  were  we  going?  The  in- 
scrutable faces  of  the  Oriental  throng  gave  back 
no  answer;  neither  did  the  inscrutable,  deep-blue 
sky  full  of  marvelously  white  Manchurian  clouds. 
Each  man*s  secret  remained  his  own,  but  the 
splendid  sun  shone  over  us  all  as  we  pushed 
slowly  up  the  shallow  river  between  the  high 
banks. 

We  forgot  home  and  kindred,  we  felt  pagan- 
free;  we  sensed  within  us  a  new  life,  strangely 
old — the  free,  wandering  life  rightly  inherited  by 
every  man  from  the  days  when  all  the  earth 
roamed.  Under  the  layers  of  modern  conven- 
tion, does  not  a  little  of  the  wanderer's  spirit  lie 
hidden  within  us  all  ?  Has  it  not  started  into  life 
at  unlooked-for  moments,  even  when  we  walked 
a  city  pavement  or  sat  in  a  wholly  business-like 
office,  as  the  smoke  of  a  bonfire  reached  our 
nostrils  or  as  we  glimpsed  night  skies  above  tall 
buildings — awakening  within  us,  for  the  instant, 
strange,  restless  cravings  for  a  lost  freedom? 
Here,  with  the  modern  world  far,  far  away,  such 
a  wild  sweet  spirit  took  possession  of  us.     To- 


30    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

morrow,  to-morrow  will  bring  us  to  the  long 
trail,  the  out  trail,  at  last.  And  to-night  I  am 
sitting  in  a  Chinese  inn  on  a  brick  k'ang — a 
northern  Chinese  bed.  I  am  writing  by  the  light 
of  a  tiny  lamp,  and  that  of  a  luminous  young 
moon,  and  one  very  brilliant  star.  Outside,  the 
trail  leads  on,  on  into  the  moonlight;  a  dream 
trail,  a  moon  trail,  beckoning,  enticing.  Surely 
to-night  we  have  touched  the  magic  spring  of  the 
earth;  earth  trail  joins  moon  trail. 

To-day  is  to-morrow !  The  earth  stirs  and  we 
wake  with  her,  such  is  our  close  communion  out 
here  where  the  artificiality  of  our  civilization  is 
swept  from  us.  We  wake  to  quiet  and  a  soft, 
stirring  breeze  tapping  on  the  paper  panes;  but 
as  the  sun  rises  clear  of  the  horizon,  the  huge 
courtyard  pulses  with  the  life  of  a  hundred  jour- 
neyings.  Settler  and  bandit  and  nomad  start  the 
day's  business.  The  stir  of  departure  tinges  the 
very  air.  Even  the  carts  look  as  if  they  were 
all  of  the  same  mind,  anticipating  the  start.  In 
a  Manchurian  inn  there  are  two  gates  at  opposite 
.ends  of  the  court — one  where  you  come  in,  one 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    31 

where  you  go  out.  As  the  carts  are  never  turned 
around  in  the  inn  inclosure,  they  bear  now,  as 
always,  an  expectant  mien  as  they  stand  with 
their  shafts  towards  the  gate  of  departure.  Mules 
and  ponies  and  horses  munch  their  grain  at  the 
rude  stalls ;  servants  pass  with  kettles  of  steaming 
tea;  men  and  women  are  climbing  into  the  tiny 
interiors  of  the  *  Peking '  carts;  carters  are  har- 
nessing their  trains  of  mules  to  the  heavily  loaded 
grain  carts,  one,  two,  three,  and  even  four,  one 
in  front  of  the  other.  Mules  and  donkeys  are 
braying,  men  are  shouting;  there  is  the  habitual 
Oriental  bargaining  and  quarreling.  We,  too, 
join  in  the  din  of  departure.  Our  two  carts  are 
soon  ready.  In  one  we  store  the  extra  baggage 
and  the  never-to-be-left-behind  *  boy.'  In  the 
other  my  husband  deftly  piles  the  sacks  of  grain, 
leaving  just  room  enough  for  me  to  squeeze  in 
and  take  a  half-reclining  position,  with  my  feet 
almost  touching  the  first  mule's  tail.  A  *  Peking ' 
cart  is  an  altogether  fearsome  thing  to  ride  in, 
unless  you  are  wedged  in  so  as  not  to  shake  with 
each  jar  of  the  springless  planks  beneath  you; 
but,  as  I  have  discovered,  the  same  primeval 


32     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

vehicle,  arranged  by  an  old-time  follower  of  the 
Chinese  road,  becomes  a  very  possible  means  of 
travel. 

I  wriggled  myself  into  the  remaining  space  be- 
tween the  sacks,  my  husband  swung  himself  onto 
one  shaft,  the  driver  let  his  long  whip  sing  over 
the  backs  of  the  mules,  and  sprang  to  a  sitting 
position  on  the  other  shaft,  and  we  jerked  into 
motion.  We  rode  from  the  thronging  mules  and 
men,  through  the  great  gate  of  leaving — jolting 
and  bumping  over  its  uneven  sill,  down  into  the 
ruts  of  the  road.  Our  escort  came  riding  to- 
wards us  on  horseback,  and  our  procession  of 
carts  and  soldiers  passed  from  the  one  street  of 
Hulanho  out  on  the  red-brown  track,  stretching 
away  over  the  plains.  Having  left  the  other 
travelers  behind,  we  had  the  road.  I  leaned  back 
against  the  grain  sacks,  perfect  peace  possessing 
me,  as  I  watched  the  ribbon  trail  ahead.  There 
was  such  a  profound  tranquillity  all  around  us 
that  we  did  not  disturb  it  with  a  single  word;  it 
was  the  fulfilment  of  spring's  restless  striving, 
and  amidst  this  quiet  plenty  we  rode  on  and  on, 
without  fret,  without  anxiety. 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards     33 

Nor  did  the  little  world-old  villages  that  we 
traveled  through  bring  any  bustling  discord; 
there  was  the  same  peace  and  abundance.  On 
the  rounded  tops  of  the  brown  mud  dwellings  lay- 
great  heaps  of  yellow  corn,  and  through  the  open 
gates  of  the  mud  walls  we  saw,  across  the  courts, 
strings  and  strings  of  red  peppers  hanging  by 
the  house  doors.  Now  and  then  we  met  the 
oldest  form  of  cart — with  the  two  wheels  turning 
on  a  fixed  axle;  they  were  the  grain  carts,  now 
loaded  with  kaoliang  stalks,  and  we  brushed  their 
leaves  in  passing  them  on  the  narrow  way,  as  the 
oxen  pulled  them  slowly,  slowly  to  their  destina- 
tion. The  villages  were  empty  now,  for  every 
one  was  busy  in  the  harvest  fields;  there  were 
only  a  few  old  women  drawing  water  at  the  wells 
or  washing  clothes  in  the  stone  troughs  that  stood 
near.  During  their  age-long  existence,  all  the 
villages  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  meditative 
calm.  The  wayside  shrines  with  their  smoking 
incense  testified  to  the  fact  that  there  was  time, 
even  now  in  the  harvest  season,  to  worship  the 
gods.  In  the  open  country  we  forded  streams, 
and  we  drove  through  the  high-standing  grain 


34  Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 
and  the  low-growing  beans.  We  watched  the 
naked  men  working  with  implements  of  Abra- 
ham's time,  and  the  women  in  bright-red  trous- 
ers and  blue  top-garments  gathering  the  grain 
into  bundles,  and  the  little  children  following 
behind,  making  a  last  gleaning  of  the  ground  in 
order  that  nothing,  not  even  the  smallest  kernel, 
should  be  lost.  Over  them  all,  and  us,  the 
marvelous  northern  sunshine  poured  steadfastly, 
hour  after  hour. 

At  last,  the  morning  with  its  simple  scenes  had 
slipped  away,  and  we  stopped  to  eat  at  the  side 
of  the  way.  It  was  the  usual  inn — one  long 
room  with  the  two  k'angs,  or  brick  platforms, 
running  parallel  down  the  longer  sides,  and  the 
rafters  blackened  with  the  smoke  from  the 
braziers.  As  it  was  cool  and  empty  just  then, 
we  sat  cross-legged  on  one  of  the  k'angs,  eating 
our  tiffin  of  coffee  and  eggs  from  the  low  k'ang 
table,  polished  and  black  with  the  numberless 
f  eastings  of  countless  travelers.  As  our  *  boy ' 
came  and  went,  lifting  the  bamboo  curtain  at 
the  door,  we  caught  glimpses  of  the  heated, 
glimmering  air  of  noon.     Over  the  inn  court 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    35 

there  was  now  no  bustle  of  leave-taking:  every- 
thing drowsed  in  the  noonday.  The  two-wheeled 
carts  rested  on  their  backs,  their  shafts  high  in 
the  air;  the  mules  munched  and  munched  in 
ruminative  content.  The  carters  lay  asleep  in 
curious  Oriental  attitudes  on  benches  as  wide  as 
my  hand.  Stretching  ourselves  on  the  matting 
of  the  k'ang,  in  the  same  untutored  simplicity, 
our  bodies  and  spirits  loosened  their  hold  on  the 
actual,  and  we  too  slept.  We  woke  at  last, 
feeling  the  hard  brick  beneath  us.  It  was  mid- 
afternoon  ! 

"  Boy !  boy ! "  we  called,  tumbling  off  the 
k'ang.  (When  in  trouble  in  China,  always  call 
the  boy.)  "You  no  belong  proper  boy.  You 
have  sleepee.  Plenty  piecie  hung-hu-tzu  kill  two 
gentlemen,  night  time  no  have  catchee  place 
sleep.'^  (When  you  wish  to  vent  your  anger 
in  China,  vent  it  on  the  boy;  that  is  partially  why 
you  have  him — to  be  the  scape-goat.)  In  answer 
to  our  wrath,  the  boy  sat  up  sleepily.  We  hustled 
him,  we  hustled  the  carters.  We  were  thoroughly 
aware  now  of  the  danger,  for  the  inns  are  far 
apart  in  this  region  of  Manchuria.    But  with  all 


36    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

our  hustling  no  one  hustled.  Finally,  remem- 
bering the  fate  of  him  who  hurried  the  East,  we 
forbore;  but  not  being  able  to  become  altogether 
passive,  we  paced  up  and  down,  up  and  down — 
after  the  fashion  of  the  West.  In  due  course 
of  time — according  to  the  Oriental  mind — the 
mules  were  harnessed,  the  baggage  in  place,  and 
we  drove  leisurely  forth,  our  fellows  stoically 
calm,  we  impatient. 

But  a  little  way,  and  the  care-free  spirit  of 
the  open  road  once  more  controlled  us.  We 
walked  hand  in  hand,  we  sat  on  little  hillocks 
awaiting  the  carts  we  had  outdistanced,  we  felt 
the  glee  of  escaped  children;  the  day  seemed  a 
stolen  day  from  some  other  existence  when  life 
was  made  up  of  roving.  At  last  we  were  tired, 
and  climbed  into  the  cart  and  lay  against  the 
musty  smelling  grain  sacks.  We  were  silent 
again;  the  dusk  settled  down,  a  revivifying  mo- 
ment when  there  seemed  a  vapor  of  spiritual 
life  hovering  over  the  earth.  So  we  journeyed 
until  twilight  deepened  into  night,  and  the  stars 
and  the  moon  came  out.  Late  in  the  evening, 
the  carters  drove  their  tired  mules  through  the 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards     37 

shadowy  gateway  into  the  moon-lighted  inn- 
inclosure.  We  were  late  indeed !  Fifty  or  more 
carts  and  two  hundred  travelers  were  ahead  of 
us.  Looking  into  the  one  common  room,  we 
saw  that  the  two  k'angs  were  crowded  with 
sleeping  humanity.  We  thought  with  horror  of 
such  a  man-filled  night  after  the  spacious  world 
we  had  lived  in  all  day,  so  we  made  a  bed  of 
straw  in  the  cart  and  lay  there,  close  together 
in  a  silent  companionship.  It  was  a  solitude 
made  perfect,  out  there  with  only  one's  mate, 
the  animals,  and  above — the  sky  and  the 
moon. 

The  next  day  a  new  life  seemed  stirring;  the 
farther  we  went,  the  younger  it  seemed  to  grow. 
The  methods  of  work  in  the  fields  and  villages 
were  as  much  of  the  past  as  they  had  been  on 
the  previous  day,  but  the  mud  dwellings  often 
looked  new.  We  were  touching  the  frontier, 
where  men,  mostly  from  the  overcrowded  prov- 
ince of  Shantung,  with  more  vision  and  initiative 
than  their  fellow  townsmen,  had  come  for  their 
*  big  chance,'  and  they  were  getting  it!  The 
crops  were  bumper  ones;  the  grain-towers  of 


38     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

spiral  matting  that  could  be  made  high  or  low 
according  to  the  amount  of  grain  to  be  put  in 
them,  stood  up  high  above  everything  else  in  the 
landscape.  The  men  in  the  hongs/^  with  whom 
we  talked  business,  cared  nothing  at  all  for  a 
small  commission;  they  were  used  to  realizing 
twenty  and  thirty  per  cent,  on  their  money.  At 
noon  we  found  our  inn  was  brand-new — a  new 
inn  in  China!  Those  words  are  without  mean- 
ing. A  black  and  old-age  interior  are  inextricably 
bound  up  with  the  name.  But  there  the  impos- 
sible stood,  with  the  hoops  of  red  cloth — the 
infallible  sign  of  the  Chinese  hostelry — swinging 
gaily  in  the  breeze  before  the  door.  We  entered, 
to  find  shavings  on  the  floor,  and  the  whole  place 
as  clean  as  a  Dutch  hearth.  Furthermore,  the 
entire  town  was  new.  The  inn-keeper  was  a 
Shantung  man,  driven  out  of  his  own  province 
in  a  year  of  bad  crops.  That  was  two  years  ago, 
and  this  year  he  was  building  a  complete  village, 
bringing  men  and  women  from  his  old  home  to 
people  it  and  work  for  him.  He  and  his  creation 
were  the  epitome  of  his  life,  young  and  vital,  yet 
*A  business  house. 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    39 

even  now,  in  their  beginnings,  old  with  the  in- 
herited traditions  of  the  East. 

Now  we  perceived  that  each  day  more  of  con- 
vention and  its  ways  were  slipping  from  us.  We 
had  our  regular  rations  of  crackers,  eggs,  and  a 
cup  of  coffee — just  one  cup  apiece,  for  the  tiny 
pot  that  fitted  into  the  food-chest  would  not  hold 
more  than  two  cups.  That  ended  the  eating 
question.  We  wore  thin  shirts  and  khaki  trousers 
— just  ahke.  That  ended  the  clothes  question. 
We  forgot  the  strivings  and  cravings  of  the 
world,  as  we  count  it,  in  this  country  whence  our 
civilization  had  so  utterly  vanished.  We  grew 
to  want  little  and  to  know  no  haste.  The  days 
came  to  us  with  more  and  more  elemental  mean- 
ings, elemental  appeals. 

On  the  fourth  day  we  reached  Peilintzu.  The 
life  of  the  Orient  surged  in  the  streets  with  all 
its  overpowering  force.  It  was  evening.  From 
the  latticed  sides  of  the  cart,  as  we  rumbled 
along,  I  watched  the  dim  city.  The  soft  flicker- 
ing lights  threw  into  relief  the  primitive  existing 
everywhere  and  now  daily  becoming  a  part  of 
us.    In  the  dark  huts  open  to  the  streets,  bean- 


40     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

oil  lamps  flared  and  flickered  on  families  bending 
low  over  their  evening  meal.  With  bowls  held 
to  their  mouths,  they  ate  eagerly  with  original 
elemental  hunger.  In  the  shops  were  men  naked 
to  the  waist,  their  brown  bodies  glistening  in  the 
light;  and  all  the  streets  were  crowded  with 
venders  striking  their  cymbals,  shouting  their 
wares.  Beggars  in  sackcloth  and  dirt  limped, 
and  groveled,  and  whinned,  holding  out  begging 
hands  and  raising  their  voices  for  alms,  alms. 
High  above  these  noises  and  above  the  creaking 
of  the  cart-wheels,  came  the  shrilling,  barbarous 
music  of  the  one-stringed  violins  playing  the 
wedding  guests  into  strange,  unnamed  moods, 
and  of  the  pounding  tom-toms  beating  forth  the 
wailing  mysteries  of  death.  Before  our  eyes,  in 
naked  simplicity,  was  the  drama  of  existence 
which  we,  in  our  civilization,  veil  and  disguise 
and  ignore, — the  rude  joy  over  food,  the  ugli- 
ness of  want,  the  passion  of  love,  the  uncontrolled 
sorrow  of  death.  In  the  summer  night,  feasting 
and  want,  love  and  death,  all  lifted  their  voices. 
And  again  we  passed  through  the  shadowy 
gateway  of  the  night's  stopping-place,  into  the 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    41 

court  with  its  moon-lighted  roof  and  its  quiet 
munching  beasts.  Day  by  day,  night  by  night, 
this  primordial  existence  was  piling  up  its  ex- 
perience within  us.  Life  surcharged  with  rudi- 
mentary meanings  was  calling  us  more  and  more 
insistently  to  live  as  profoundly  as  we  could.  But 
we  had  yet  to  touch  the  very  heart  of  funda- 
mental things. 

.  We  stayed  a  day  in  Peilintzu,  for  my  husband 
had  work  to  do  and  we  must  present  our  pass- 
ports at  the  yamen  (the  official  house  and  office). 
We  were  not  at  all  sure  we  should  be  allowed  to 
go  on.  From  Peilintzu  to  Hailun  was  the  stretch 
of  country  reputed  to  be  full  of  the  bandits.  We 
spent  the  day  in  the  hongs  and  prowling  over 
the  city.  The  one-storied  mud  buildings,  baked 
brown  by  the  northern  sun,  made  the  city  look 
like  an  encampment  of  gophers.  There  were  no 
pagodas,  or  temples,  or  even  a  city  wall,  to  break 
the  stretch  of  rounded  roofs — only  the  high- 
standing,  fresh-matting  grain-towers,  which 
spoke  of  business  prosperity.  But  for  some 
reason  the  city  was  as  fascinating  as  the  more 
characteristic  Chinese  ones  with  their  beautiful 


42     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

walls,  half-ruined  temples,  and  pagodas.  Per- 
haps its  charm  was  the  freedom  of  the  plains,  of 
which  I  caught  glimpses  beyond  the  brown  city; 
perhaps  it  was  the  daring,  almost  lawless,  free- 
dom of  the  pioneer  inhabitants. 

The  market  street  was  the  most  surprising 
thing  of  all.  Away  out  here,  where  we  felt  as  if 
we  had  come  to  the  jumping-off  place  of  the 
earth, — here  where  a  white  woman  had  never 
been, — we  found  a  market-place  as  busy  as  Wall 
Street  although  altogether  Eastern.  The  long 
way  was  full  of  carts  and  mules  and  pack- 
donkeys,  of  buyers  and  sellers  and  money- 
changers. Fortunes  were  made  and  lost  on  that 
street,  in  grain  and  the  great  gamble  in  beans. 
Here,  where  man  made  no  pose,  I  began  to 
realize  how  ruthless  business  is — how  it  inately 
pertains  to  the  savage  instinct  of  struggle  for 
food  and  shelter.  When  I  entered  the  hongs,  I 
could  scarcely  sense  the  large  investments  with 
twenty  and  thirty  per  cent,  returns,  the  very  air 
was  so  pervaded  with  the  enervating,  idle  ease 
of  the  wealthy  Eastern  gentlemen.  We  all  but 
stumbled  in  the  dark  rooms  heavy  with  smoke 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    43 

and  the  odor  of  incense.  Vassals,  whose  duty  it 
was  to  serve  every  whim  of  those  Oriental  busi- 
ness men,  stood  on  every  side.  A  crowd  of  them 
always  ushered  us  into  the  inner  offices,  where 
sat  the  managers  amid  the  dust  gathering  on  the 
ancestral  tablets  and  the  paper  panes  of  the  sealed 
windows.  One  retainer  would  bring  us  tea,  one 
water-pipes.  Then  there  was  always  a  modern 
touch — one  would  offer  us  British-American  To- 
bacco Company  cigarettes.  The  smoke  of  West- 
ern business  had  penetrated  even  into  the  inner 
sanctuaries  of  these  hongs. 

In  the  late  afternoon,  just  after  we  had  re- 
turned to  the  inn,  the  head  official  of  the  town 
came  to  see  us.  He  was  a  little,  sawed-off 
Oriental,  clad  in  Chinese  clothes  and  a  derby. 
We  were  indeed  honored,  for  we  were  only 
merchants — and  business  is  not  one  of  the  time- 
reverenced  occupations  here.  Farmer  and  scholar 
and  official  stand  above  the  merchant.  After 
much  Eastern  politeness,  he  told  us  that  he 
thought  we  could  go  on,  and  that  he  would  give 
us  an  escort  of  two  soldiers!  We  could  have 
blessed  the  absurd  little  man  in  the  long  gown 


44     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

and  derby,  who  put  his  pride  in  his  pocket — or 
more  correctly,  as  he  was  a  Chinese,  up  his  huge 
sleeve — and  made  going  on  possible  for  us,  for 
we  wanted  with  all  our  hearts  to  see  the 
country  ahead. 

Promptly  on  time  the  next  morning,  our  escort 
appeared  riding  bravely  up  the  street,  their  rifles 
over  their  shoulders.  They  were  literally  covered 
with  bandoliers — one  had  two  hundred  rounds, 
the  other  a  hundred  and  fifty.  Thus  we  started 
prepared  for  battle,  but  the  day  passed  without 
event,  in  the  same  quiet  as  the  previous  days. 
We  were  not  safe  yet.  We  should  have  reached 
Hailun  that  night,  but  a  rain  the  evening  before 
had  softened  the  roads,  which  were  no  more  than 
paths  through  the  fields,  until  our  heavy  wheels 
sank  deep  into  the  sticky  mud,  turning  more 
slowly  than  ever.  We  strained  our  eyes  into  the 
gathering  dusk  for  some  sign  of  Hailun,  but  in 
vain.  Had  we  known  it,  Hailun  was  many  li 
away.  Although  Chinese  carters  have  been  over 
a  road  innumerable  times,  they  can  scarcely  ever 
tell  how  near  you  are  to  your  stopping-place. 
They  will  say  you  are  ten  //  away,  but  at  the  end 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards     45 

of  the  ten  //  they  will  tell  you — without  seeing  the 
incongruity  of  it — that  your  destination  is  still 
not  ten,  but  twenty  li  farther  on !  "  Why  should 
you  wish  to  know?  "  they  evidently  wonder;  "  it 
will  not  get  you  there  any  sooner.  Just  plod  on 
and  on,  and  by  and  by,  if  Fate  wills  it,  you  will 
be  there.  That  is  all  there  is  to  it.  Why 
discuss  it  ?  '* 

As  we  drove  farther  and  farther  in  the  dim 
September  twilight,  the  mere  physical  needs, 
food  and  shelter,  became  the  most  desired  things 
on  earth.  Hailun  was,  to  us,  but  a  mirage  of 
bodily  comfort,  forever  in  the  distance.  Cart- 
tired,  weary  beyond  all  expression,  the  whole 
blessedness  of  living  was  bed,  and  food,  and 
safety.  Our  uncouth  mule-drivers,  who  had 
known  no  other  wants  in  all  their  existence,  were 
not  more  single  in  their  desires  this  night  than 
we.  Around  us  lay  the  land  in  perfect  peace. 
The  tall  kaoliang  rustled  its  cornlike  leaves  about 
us.  Higher  than  a  man's  head,  higher  than  a 
man  on  horseback,  it  stood,  offering  shelter.  We 
cried  out  to  claim  its  protection,  to  stretch  our- 
selves in  the  cart  and  sleep !    But  we  knew  with 


46     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

fear — instinctive  fear  like  that  of  the  natives — 
that  the  high  grain  could  also  make  safe  the 
escape  of  marauding  bands.  There  was  no  pro- 
tection to  be  hoped  for  from  the  peaceful  earth. 
Man  had  despoiled  it,  and  to  man  we  must  look 
for  help.  At  last  we  came  to  a  little  makeshift 
inn,  but  there  was  no  room  for  us  and  it  had 
begun  to  rain !  But  in  a  smaller  building,  where 
grain  was  stored  within  the  inn  inclosure,  we 
slept  on  top  of  the  grain — man  and  woman  of  the 
West,  carters  and  soldiers  of  the  East. 

There  is  no  delaying,  in  the  morning,  on  the 
Chinese  road,  for  the  carters  are  early  astir  and 
they  see  to  it  that  you  have  no  rest,  until  in 
desperation  you,  too,  get  up.  So,  despite  the 
night's  experiences,  we  made  our  tiffin  place  next 
morning  by  nine  o'clock.  So  said  our  watches, 
and  the  sun,  as  far  as  we  could  tell,  agreed  with 
them.  Having  quickly  disposed  of  our  coffee 
and  eggs,  we  pushed  on  to  one  of  the  many 
small  rivers  we  had  been  continually  crossing. 
As  usual  (or  at  least  we  had  come  to  think  it 
was  customary)  the  ferryboat  was  on  the  other 
side  and  the  boatmen  were  eating  their  '  chow ' 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    /\rj 

and  refused  to  hurry.  Our  escort,  exceedingly 
wroth  at  such  an  indignity — as  they  reckoned  it 
— to  their  distinctive  selves,  fired  ofY  their  guns 
a  couple  of  times.  It  was  a  fine  display  of  empty 
authority,  but,  at  any  rate,  we  did  not  have  to 
wait  longer:  the  ferry,  as  we  grandly  called  the 
mud-scow  (with  boards  across  the  hold  for  the 
cart  wheels  to  rest  on),  slowly  worked  across 
the  river  by  means  of  poles.  For  once,  the  carts 
rolled  aboard  without  their  wheels  slipping  off 
the  narrow  planks  that  led  to  the  boat.  For 
once,  the  mules  behaved  as  if  ferrying  was  the 
greatest  joy  of  their  lives,  stepping  demurely  into 
the  prow,  scorning  the  very  thought  of  skipping 
gaily  into  the  kaoliang  at  the  moment  of  em- 
barkation, as  we  had  known  them  to  do.  So 
we  were  quickly  aboard,  keeping  well  in  the 
stern  to  avoid  the  mules*  heels, — and  across  we 
went. 

Then  we  started  to  climb.  After  going  steadily 
upward  for  about  an  hour,  we  came  out  on  the 
northern  plain.  It  looked  for  all  the  world  like 
'  the  land  east  of  the  sun  and  west  of  the  moon ' 
of  the  folk  tales,  a  great  never-to-be-forgotten 


48     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

country,  vast  and  rolling  and,  as  far  as  one  could 
see,  covered  with  crops  of  all  kinds — kaoliang, 
beans,  corn,  buckwheat.  The  oats  and  wheat 
had  already  been  harvested,  leaving  large  patches 
of  rich  brown  earth.  Here  and  there  on  the  huge 
expanse  were  scattered  groups  of  four  or  five 
mud  houses.  The  productiveness  and  the  im- 
mensity of  that  plain  held  us  enthralled.  It  was 
as  if  we  had  stumbled  into  a  mythical  land, 
where  things  grew  of  their  own  accord,  where 
there  were  not  men  enough  to  gather  in  the 
abundance,  where  nature  appeared  graciously  to 
dispense  with  man  and  the  sweat  of  his  brow. 
The  Manchurian  sunshine,  that  glorious  godlike 
potion,  fell  like  golden  wine  over  those  boundless 
stretches.  Faint,  faint,  was  our  Anglo-Saxon 
heritage;  we  were  lost  to  all  but  the  long  vaga- 
bond days,  the  simple  living  in  inns,  the  carts 
bouncing  along  over  the  roads.  Around  us  was 
the  shining  air;  within  us  the  love  of  the  open 
day.  We  had  inherited  the  earth !  There  it  lay ! 
Then  suddenly,  from  the  quiet  road  ahead, 
a  cloud  of  dust  arose.  As  we  strained  our  eyes 
to  see,  there  came  riding  out  of  it  three  or  four 


The  ferry,  as  we  grandly  called  the  mud-scow,  slowly  worked 
across  the  river  by  means  of  poles. 


For  once,  the  carts  rolled  aboard  without  their  wheels  slipping 
off  the  narrow  planks  that  led  to  the  boat. 

[page  47] 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    49 

men.  Each  man  riding  was  pulling  after  him 
by  leading  straps  a  number  of  animals — ^that 
much  we  could  see. 

"  Heavenly  mud !  "  cried  my  husband,  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hand,  "  they  are  riding  hell  for 
leather.    Something's  up ! " 

Now  we  were  near  enough  to  understand  their 
shouts :  **  Hung-hu-tzu  lai !  Hung-hu-tzu  lai ! " 
(The  red-beards  are  coming!  The  red-beards  are 
coming !)  "  They  are  fighting  .  .  .  ten  li 
off  ...  at  the  inn  .  .  .  they  are  chasing  us 
.  .  .  to  get  our  horses  ...  Hung-hu-tzu  lai ! 
.    .    .  Hung-hu-tzu  lai ! " 

"  For  God's  sake,  hurry ! "  cried  my  husband, 
fairly  lifting  me  onto  the  high  shaft  of  the  cart 
and  jumping  after  me — we  had  all  been  walking. 
The  carters  jumped  to  their  places,  simultane- 
ously letting  their  long  whips  sing  and  crack  in 
the  air.  Down  they  came  on  the  mules'  backs. 
The  carts  sprang  forward  with  a  terrific  bounce. 
The  escort  were  urging  their  horses  and  loading 
their  rifles.  "  Have  your  revolver  ready !  "  my 
husband  commanded  me,  as  he  slipped  his  own 
out  of  his  belt.    It  was  a  wild  ride !    Across  the 


50    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

fields!  Through  the  kaoliang!  Over  the  beans! 
Behind  and  amongst  us  the  frightened  bearers  of 
the  news,  their  horses  and  their  mules !  On,  on, 
over  the  furrows,  plunged  our  clumsy  train,  the 
carts  rocking  until  it  seemed  they  must  tip  over. 
All  around  us,  the  terrified  men  yelled  savagely, 
and  the  whips  hissed  and  whizzed.  Behind, 
steadily  getting  nearer,  a  cloud  of  brown  dust! 

Nearer  came  the  cloud  of  dust.  We  knew  the 
full  meaning  of  it.  With  painful  vividness  there 
flashed  through  my  mind  something  they  had  told 
us  in  Harbin  of  a  man  who  had  left  his  fellows, 
one  day,  to  go  on  alone;  the  next  morning  they 
found  him  stripped  of  all  possessions  and  of  life. 
There  lay  the  beautiful  earth  spread  out  like  a 
feast  before  us,  but  from  us,  too,  as  from  him, 
might  go  the  sun,  and  the  wind,  and  all  the 
earth.  I  clutched  more  firmly  my  revolver.  I 
heard  the  horsemen  yell :  "  A  hundred  in  the 
band !  "  How  slowly  we  moved !  How  they 
gained  on  us ! 

On  over  more  beans,  through  another  field  of 
kaoliang  we  went.  Suddenly,  there  in  front  of 
us,  hidden  until  now  by  the  tall  grain,  stood  a 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards     51 

walled-in  farm-house.  We  sprang  to  the  ground. 
We  hammered  frenziedly  on  the  door.  Would 
they,  oh,  would  they,  let  us  in?  Already  the 
brown  cloud  was  taking  the  shape  of  riding 
men!  Still  within  they  delayed.  We  could  hear 
the  farmer- family  talking — they  thought  we  were 
the  bandits!  The  precious  moments  were  pass- 
ing. Bullets  were  now  going  *  phut ! '  in  the  dirt 
around  us.  Hope  was  all  but  gone — when 
through  a  loop  hole,  some  one  within  spied  us, — 
the  foreigners!  Then  they  knew  and  opened 
their  gates !  Horses,  mules,  men — we  all  whirled 
into  the  court,  swept  on  by  the  overwhelming 
instinct  to  live.  The  great  doors  swung  to  behind 
us,  the  heavy  wooden  bars  clattered  into  place. 
We  were  safe ! 

In  the  courtyard  of  that  far-away  farm-house 
we  waited,  our  hearts  beating  fast  with  the  fear 
and  the  joy  and  the  vision  of  that  ride.  Only 
a  short  time  had  passed  since  we  had  been  idling 
along  the  road,  but  in  those  wild  moments  our 
souls  had  been  saturated  with  the  pure  instinct 
of  self-preservation.  Our  Anglo-Saxon  world  of 
possible  conquests,  possible  possessions,  possible 


52     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

fame,  had  been  shown  to  us  as  mere  trappings. 
In  one  revealing  flash  we  had  seen  the  beauty  of 
naked  existence,  had  been  mad  with  the  desire 
for  life.  It  was  not  the  sordid  struggle  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together  that  takes  place  in  our 
present-day  civilized  cities;  it  was  the  exaltation 
of  a  race  for  our  lives  amidst  the  glowing  abun- 
dance of  the  clean  earth.  That  moment,  sur- 
charged with  primitive  vitality  and  vividness,  had 
erased  from  our  souls  all  the  pallidity,  the  color- 
lessness  of  past  conventional  experience.  At  last 
it  had  been  given  to  us  to  throb  with  the  pulsing 
heart  of  the  elemental !  Through  it,  we  felt  life's 
profound  significance.  Some  things  are  made 
known  only  unto  vagabonds.  In  the  open  world, 
far  away  from  the  bustle  and  blinding  competi- 
tion for  conquests,  possessions,  and  fame,  we 
had  tasted  living  in  its  essence. 

We  had  little  notion  how  long  we  should  have 
to  stay  with  the  farmer  and  his  family.  The 
remainder  of  the  bandits  who  had  followed  the 
horse-owners  would  probably  not  attack  us  be- 
hind high  walls,  unless  they  were  reinforced. 
Perhaps  we  might  go  on  in  the  morning,  but  there 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    53 

was  no  certainty  of  it:  it  all  depended  on  the 
bandits,  for  we  dared  not  go  on,  with  an  escort 
of  two,  until  that  band  of  a  hundred  was 
accounted  for. 

My  husband  paced  the  court,  his  eyes  full  of 
light.  **  This  business  is  surely  an  exciting  one," 
he  exclaimed  half-anxiously,  half -exultantly. 
The  husband  in  him  was  anxious,  the  vagabond 
exultant.  But  both  of  us  being  largely  vagabond, 
we  dismissed  care  and  entered  with  zest  into  the 
joys  of  our  forefathers,  into  the  game  dear  to 
all  when  the  world  was  young — the  game  of  what 
will  happen  next. 

No  siege  was  attempted  that  night,  and  gray 
dawn  found  the  soldier  of  the  last  watch  asleep 
by  the  loop  hole.  We  hoped  the  Red-Beards  had 
decided  that  it  was  better  not  to  molest  us.  After 
much  discussion,  we  concluded  that  we  would 
wait  until  noon  and  then,  if  there  was  no  sign  of 
the  bandits,  we  would  risk  going  on.  All  the 
morning  we  watched  and  scouted  in  the  im- 
mediate vicinity.  No  robbers  appeared,  but 
neither  was  there  a  single  traveler  venturing 
forth  on  the  road. 


54    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

Nevertheless,  at  noon  we  started  forth,  with 
one  soldier  ahead,  and  one  behind  the  carts.  I 
sat  inside  our  vehicle  with  my  revolver  loaded, 
watching  the  way  ahead,  while  my  husband,  in 
order  to  see  above  the  rounded  top  of  the  cart, 
stood  on  the  narrow  space  in  front,  where  he 
usually  sat,  and  watched  for  sudden  attacks  from 
the  rear.  Everything  was  deserted,  which  made 
us  doubly  anxious.  No  one  else  dared  make  the 
attempt.  Evidently  the  historic  Red-Beards  were 
still  about. 

But  by  and  by,  when  the  tension  was  getting 
well-nigh  unbearable,  for  me  at  least,  we  began 
meeting  carts  coming  from  Hailun.  At  any  rate, 
traffic  was  being  resumed. 

"  Greetings  of  the  road,"  we  called  out  in 
Chinese.     "What  of  the  hung-hu-tzu  ?  " 

"  Soldiers  have  gone  out,  caught  some  and  shot 
them,"  was  the  laconic  answer.  (Justice  is  swift 
in  this  no  man's  land.) 

We  rode  on  until  we  could  see  distinctly  the 
low  mud  dwellings  of  Hailun  and  the  Chinese, 
in  the  evening  light,  standing  upon  the  house- 
tops. 


An  Adventure  with  the  Red-Beards    55 

Coming  through  a  field  of  kaoHang,  there  in 
the  darkening  quiet,  we  saw  hanging  from  the 
branches  of  a  tall  tree,  the  bloody  heads  of  the 
bandits. 


CHAPTER  IV 

LOOSE  LEAVES  IN  MY  NOTE-BOOK  THAT 
TELL  OF  THINGS  I  SAW  AND  THOUGHT 
WHEN  I  WAS  MUCH  ALONE  IN  THE  LONG 
WINTER. 

Two  autumns  have  passed  with  their  drifting 
clouds,  their  unquenchable  sunshine,  their  plenty 
on  the  open  stretches.  The  bitter  northern  winter 
has  for  a  second  time  descended  on  the  land. 
It  is  wonderful  and  majestic,  but  at  all  times 
relentless,  shutting  in  this  little  treaty  port  to  its 
own  life.  The  river  is  closed  for  the  winter; 
the  junks,  covered  with  snow,  lie  upturned  on 
the  shore;  and  no  steamers  can  enter  the  harbor 
for  months  to  come.  To  reach  the  Chinese  rail- 
way we  must  cross  the  river  on  sledges.  The 
Japanese  railway  is  our  only  near  access  to  the 
outer  world. 

And  very  small  looks  this  bit  of  Western  life 
in  the  face  of  this  winter  frontier  and  the  East 
that   everywhere    encroaches   upon    the    town's 

56 


Alone  in  the  Long  Winter  57 

domains.  From  my  upstairs  windows  I  look  out 
above  my  own  compound  wall  across  an  expanse 
of  white  in  the  foreground  to  the  gray  walls  and 
gray  dwellings  of  the  foreign  community.  There 
is  one  gray  spire  breaking  the  sky  line;  it  is  the 
spire  of  the  Church  of  England.  Flat,  earth- 
colored  Chinese  roofs  huddle  so  close  that  they 
touch  elbow  everywhere  with  the  few  foreign 
houses.  It  is  neither  the  time  for  the  business 
man  to  be  abroad  or  the  afternoon  tea  hour — 
the  beloved  migrating  moment  of  the  women — so 
not  a  member  of  the  little  foreign  community  is 
abroad.  English  and  French  and  Americans  are 
alike  closely  housed  against  the  intense  cold — the 
frontier  is  left  to  winter  and  the  Oriental. 

Across  that  white  space  in  the  foreground  there 
continually  pass  long  lines  of  carts  with  their 
Oriental  drivers,  in  fur  hoods  and  straw-stuffed 
moccasins,  plodding  at  the  side.  Lean  wolf  like 
dogs — the  scavengers  of  China — slink  past;  little 
beggar  children  hurry  away,  crouching  from  the 
cold.  Then,  as  I  watch,  over  that  white  space 
comes  a  funeral  procession — a  startling  splash  of 
color  against  the  monotonous  gray  background. 


58     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

Musicians  in  Lincoln  green  carry  great  gold  in- 
struments; faint  fragments  of  the  dirge,  now  high 
wailing,  now  deep  groaning,  reach  me  above  the 
wind  and  my  rattling  windows.  The  procession 
follows :  a  long  line  of  muffled  black  figures  carry- 
ing the  paper  paraphernalia  of  the  dead — the 
gaudy  red  paper  chairs,  a  deep  blue  cart  as  large 
as  the  real  ones  that  are  passing,  tall  phantom 
servants  and  gay  paper  doll  ladies,  riding  large 
birds  of  luck  and  looking  as  witchlike  as  Mother 
Goose  upon  her  broomstick,  sweeping  the  sky. 
Pace — pace — on  to  the  white  comes  the  great 
catafalque  in  a  clinging  mantle  of  red,  borne  aloft 
by  beggars  chosen  at  random  from  the  street; 
their  rags  flap  bizarrely  below  their  hastily 
donned  garments  of  state.  In  sackcloth  walk 
the  mourners.  At  last  the  procession  is  gone 
and  with  it  the  wailing,  shrieking  music  of 
death.  Again  I  am  left  with  the  slow  moving 
figures  of  the  carters,  the  creaking  carts,  the 
sneaking  wonks,  the  deep-toned  occasional  cart 
bells,  the  wind,  and  thoughts  of  my  husband  out 
somewhere  under  the  dim  gray  sky.  As  I  watch 
and  listen,   I  know  that  each  day,  incompre- 


Alone  in  the  Long  Winter  59 

hensibly  but  surely,  there  is  growing  in  me  the 
strange  fascination  for  the  East. 

Another  gray  and  white  day.  But  now  my 
Manchurian  world  is  claimed  by  silence.  There 
are  no  rattling  windows,  no  dirge  for  the  dead, 
no  deep-toned  cart  bells;  falling  snow  possesses 
the  earth.  The  gray  dwellings  and  the  gray  spire 
are  but  dim  outlines  through  the  veil  of  descend- 
ing white;  only  a  few  dark  figures,  like  hooded 
wraiths  from  the  world  of  death,  crawl  silently 
along  close  to  those  gray  compound  walls. 

Evening  is  settling  down.  The  snow  has 
stopped.  Russia  and  this  little  port  seem  closely 
akin  to-night;  this  Manchurian  village  reminds 
me  of  some  Russian  pictures  I  once  saw.  There 
is  the  same  blue-gray  snow,  the  same  atmos- 
phere of  cold  remoteness.  The  dome  of  the 
Russian  consulate,  dim  against  the  northern  sky, 
looks  like  the  ever-abiding  presence  of  the 
Russian  church,  thus  lending  the  last  touch  of 
reality  to  the  illusion  that  this  is  a  part  of  the 
vast  silent  steppes.     Perhaps,  when  this  village 


6o    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

was  almost  one  of  the  Russians'  possessions  be- 
fore the  war  that  pushed  them  back,  they  left 
some  unfathomable  but  unerasable  touch  upon 
it. 

I  stand  at  my  window  and  look  and  dream, 
fascinated  by  this  strange  world  now  mine.  I 
hear  again  the  spirit  of  the  frontier  trail  calling 
me — the  lure  of  its  winter  call  is  strong  to-night, 
Filtering  to  me,  as  it  does,  through  the  comforts 
of  the  port,  it  tantalizes  me  for  I  know  I  catch 
only  flashes  of  its  power.  I  want  to  know  the 
frontier  through  the  hardships  and  dangers  and 
rough  things  of  a  winter  journey. 


CHAPTER  V 
IN  WHICH  I  GET  MY  HEART'S  DESIRE 

Then  she  pulled  off  her  silk-finished  gown 
And  put  on  hose  of  leather,  O ! 
She's  gone  with  the  wraggle-taggle  gipsies,  0. 
— Old  English  Folk  Song, 

My  chance  has  come — ^to  try  the  winter  trail. 
We  have  planned  for  two  years,  now,  a  cart 
journey  over  the  frozen  Yalu,  but  last  winter  it 
was  so  bitter  cold  that  no  foreigner  could  risk 
it.  It  is  February  of  the  second  year  and  we  had 
just  begun  to  think  that  we  must  give  it  up 
again,  for  alternate  freezes  and  thaws  had  made 
the  rivers  in  southern  Manchuria  unsafe  for  cart 
travel  and  they  say  that,  except  for  pedestrians, 
communication  with  the  upper  valleys  of  the  Yalu 
IS  practicable  only  in  winter,  when  the  frozen 
river  can  be  the  highway. 

But  here's  to  the  luck  of  the  roamer !  We  have 
had  two  weeks  of  continued  cold  weather  and 

6i 


62     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

at  last  the  Yalu  is  frozen  hard  enough  for 
travel.  They  say  that,  if  we  start  immediately, 
we  can  finish  the  river  part  of  our  journey  before 
the  ice  breaks.  The  Yalu  forms  the  eastern 
boundary  of  Manchuria,  with  Korea  lying  just 
across.  The  great  river  winds  and  winds  for 
about  two  hundred  miles,  then  divides,  one 
branch  following  the  Korean  shore,  one  the  Man- 
churian.  In  between  these  branches  is  a  tri- 
angular-shaped piece  of  Manchuria,  almost 
entirely  cut  off  from  the  mainland,  separated 
from  her  own  by  these  bridgeless  tributaries. 
Higher  up,  the  branches  dwindle  to  thin  streams, 
and  Manchuria  again  becomes  one.  But  as  this 
takes  place  in  the  impenetrable  land  near  the 
Long  White  Mountain,  the  few  inhabitants  of 
the  triangle  must  depend  on  the  winter  ice  and 
summer  junks  for  outside  communication.  This 
leaves  an  in-between  time  of  thin  or  floating  ice. 
As  my  husband's  business  takes  us  some  two 
hundred  miles  up  the  eastern  side  of  the  triangle 
to  a  big  lumbering  town,  and  then  across  a  wide 
stretch  of  country  full  of  ranges  of  forest- 
covered  mountains,  the  danger  is  that  we  might 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  63 

be  caught  in  the  veritable  island  at  the  time  of 
her  isolation. 

Well,  here's  to  the  dear,  kind  gods  who  look 
after  wanderers!  We  shall  trust  them  not  to 
block  our  path  with  floating  cakes  of  ice,  leaving 
us,  like  Crusoe,  on  a  separate  portion  of  the 
earth.  Such  a  journey!  It  would  rejoice  the 
heart  of  any  vagabond.  Days  and  days  upon  the 
ice,  among  the  tilled  and  partially  tilled  hills  of 
the  lower  reaches  of  the  river.  Then  a  plunge 
into  that  isolated  triangular-shaped  treasure-land, 
a  far-off  country  full  of  hidden  coal,  copper,  and 
gold,  stretches  and  stretches  of  glorious  timber 
and — bandits  and  wild  animals.  It  is  the  country 
holding  the  Chinese  pot  of  gold  at  the  end  of 
China^s  rainbow.  From  confiscated  Korea  the 
Japanese  follow  this  rainbow  with  hungry 
eyes. 

But  to  the  white  world,  this  part  of  Manchuria 
along  the  Yalu  is  almost  unknown.  The  only 
travelers  who  have  gone  over  it,  simply  with  the 
explorer's  interest,  are  Younghusband  and  a 
couple  of  comrades.  In  1888  they  spent  a  year's 
furlough  in  Manchuria.    The  fascinating  account 


64    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

of  their  wanderings  is  now  out  of  print  and  al- 
most forgotten.  Since  then  this  inaccessible  wild- 
erness of  wealth  has  been  left  almost  to  itself, 
only  now  and  then  a  business  man  venturing  into 
its  wild,  unsettled  regions.  Some  ten  years  ago  a 
picturesque  Englishman,  famed  all  over  Man- 
churia for  his  erratic  doings,  went  through  it 
hunting  a  gold  mine,  the  concession  papers  for 
which  he  made  out  himself,  and  they  were  after- 
wards proved  fraudulent.  Occasionally,  in  the 
years  since,  large  firms  operating  in  the  Orient 
have  sent  a  white  man  through.  There  are  also 
rumors  of  a  sea-pilot  and  his  wife  who,  long  ago, 
went  by  native  boat  for  a  holiday  part  way  up 
the  river.  But  never  before  had  a  woman  gone 
over  the  whole  of  this  territory,  or  attempted 
any  of  it  in  the  winter. 

It's  pack  and  go.  Once  more  out  came  the 
rough  clothes  of  the  road.  Not  a  feminine  gar- 
ment went  into  that  chest.  I  could  have  hugged 
for  very  joy  the  good  stout  shoes,  the  breeches, 
and  rough  jacket.  They  meant  for  me  freedom 
from  the  proprieties  which  sometimes  crush  from 
life  some  of  its  buoyant  gaiety. 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  65 

We  caught  the  night's  express  for  Antung,  the 
great  port  of  the  Yalu.  The  train  pulled  slowly 
out  into  the  night,  slipping  past  deserted  Russian 
barracks,  eloquent  of  the  great  Russian  advance; 
here  and  there  the  Russian  cemeteries  spoke  all 
too  eloquently  of  later  retreat.  On  that  Bud- 
dhist plain,  many  days  from  Russia's  border,  the 
Greek  crosses  on  the  huddled  graves  looked  lonely 
and  exiled. 

In  time  Moukdeh  was  gone  and  the  monoto- 
nous prairies.  Close  against  the  cold  window- 
pane  I  pressed  my  face,  straining  my  eyes  into 
the  night  for  one  glimpse  of  the  eternal  hills. 
"  Hurry,  hurry  fire  cart !  The  trail,  the  trail 
under  the  open  sky,  the  trail  among  the  hills,  is 
just  ahead."  And  then  I  went  to  sleep  and  slept 
until  we  pulled  into  Antung  in  the  early  morning. 

'  All  that  day  we  were  very  busy.  First  there 
were  the  carts  to  get, — one  for  ourselves  and  one 
for  those  indispensable  factors,  the  boy  and  the 
middle-man.  We  began  early,  for  we  knew  by 
experience  it  would  be  an  all-day  job  to  complete 
the  Oriental  bargaining.    The  carters  must,  per- 


66    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

force,  start  far  in  excess  of  the  price  they  expect, 
and  we  far  below.  Then  by  night,  without  either 
of  us  *  losing  face,'  we  would  reach  an  in-between 
price;  the  middle-man,  and  the  carters,  and  the 
boy,  and  various  other  hangers-on  would  have 
carefully  arranged  the  little  matter  of  *  squeeze ' 
attendant  upon  the  transaction.  Has  it  been 
said,  "  There  is  six  feet  of  ground  awaiting 
the  man  who  tries  to  hustle  the  East?"  Let 
it  also  be  said  that  the  six  feet  await  him 
even  sooner  should  he  seek  to  eliminate 
'  squeeze.' 

It  is  evening  now  and  our  equipment  is  com- 
plete :  two  carts  covered  with  heavy  blue  cloth  to 
protect  the  latticed  wood  and  lined  with  fur  to 
keep  out  the  intense  cold,  the  respective  owners 
of  the  carts  as  drivers,  the  food  box,  the 
clothes  chest,  the  bedding  roll,  revolvers,  and 
the  clothes  we  are  to  wear.  Surely  the  list  of 
these  clothes  is  appalling:  two  suits  of  flan- 
nel underwear  apiece,  flannel  shirts,  fur-lined 
trousers,  sweaters,  short  leather  fur-lined  coats, 
fur  caps,  mufflers,  heavy  shoes,  and  then  the  final 
layer — sheepskin  coats  with  the  hair  so  thick  we 


/  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  67 

can  scarcely  move  in  them,  and  Chinese  felt 
moccasins  to  go  over  our  big  shoes. 

Our  greatest  asset  is  our  boy.  He  lived  in 
Harbin  during  the  winter  of  the  plague;  he  was 
one  of  the  retinue  of  the  picturesque  Englishman 
when  he  went  hunting  the  gold  mine.  He  has 
been  a  carpenter,  a  farmer,  a  boatsman,  a  coolie, 
and  a  boy.  He  changes  his  role  as  easily  as  a 
chameleon  its  color.  In  times  of  stress  on  the 
road  such  flexibility  is  salvation. 

Thus  attired,  thus  equipped,  on  the  twenty- 
first  of  February,  we  left  Antung — the  last  place 
we  were  to  see  for  many  a  day  that  had  even  the 
first  prerequisites  of  civilized  comforts.  "  It  is 
good  to  cast  them  all  away,'* — so  sang  our  hearts 
as  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  left  the  over- 
heated hotel,  stepping  out  into  the  quiet  cold, 
just  before  dawn.  Our  two  carts  stood  ready  at 
the  door;  the  carters  moved  around  giving  a  last 
greasing  to  their  cart  wheels.  The  food  boxes, 
looking  very  small  for  a  month's  rations,  were 
roped  on  the  back;  then  came  the  clothes  chest 
and  it,  also,  was  roped  on.  The  bedding-roll  was 
put  in  the  back  of  the  cart.    Last  of  all,  on  top 


68     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

of  the  grain  sacks  of  other  journeys,  we  stuffed 
in  a  thin  mattress  which  we  were  to  use  on  the 
k'angs  at  night  time.  This  mattress  was  our 
latest  addition  to  the  Manchurian  traditions  for 
making  endurable  those  primeval  vehicles. 

The  cart,  with  its  fur  and  mattress,  seemed 
to  have  shriveled  to  half  its  usual  size  and  I 
was  twice  mine,  in  my  layers  of  clothes;  but,  by 
dint  of  much  pushing  by  my  husband  and  much 
pulling  on  my  own  part,  I  managed  to  crawl 
in.  My  husband  jumped  to  his  usual  place  on 
the  shaft  across  from  the  driver;  the  boy  and  the 
middle-man  were  already  in  the  cart  behind;  the 
*  escort,'  consisting  of  one  soldier,  walked  ahead. 
Somewhere  from  within  the  bundle  of  animated 
clothes  which  represented  the  driver,  we  heard 
the  '  Tzu-tzu,*  the  equivalent  of  the  Yankee  *  Gid- 
dap.*  We  were  off,  rumbling  over  the  snow- 
covered  streets  of  Antung!  Turning  once  and 
then  again,  we  had  left  Antung  behind.  In 
another  half-hour  we  had  reached  the  frozen 
river  where  lay  the  trail  of  the  winter. 

I  surely  have  sipped  some  potion  meant  for 
gipsies;  for  as  soon  as  we  were  in  that  bumpy 


/  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  69 

cart,  with  the  surety  of  days  afield,  my  spirit 
took  on  a  serenity  peculiar  to  our  wandering 
days.  By  the  time  we  had  reached  the  river, 
the  knack  of  riding  in  a  Peking  cart  had  come 
back  to  me,  and  I  snuggled  down  into  my  furs. 

"  Happy  ?  "  asked  my  husband. 

I  sighed  contentedly. 

The  front  of  the  cart,  with  its  fur  curtain 
rolled  up,  was  a  window,  arched  at  the  top, 
framing  for  me  the  winter  frontier  and  its 
pageant.  On  either  side  were  the  white  hills, 
above  was  the  gray  sky,  before  us  was  the  white 
Yalu.  Over  its  frozen  surface,  far  to  the 
horizon,  there  snaked  along,  now  on  one  side, 
now  on  the  other,  a  dark  streak.  Thus  had  the 
winter  road  been  blazed  oiit  to  avoid  the  thin 
ice  and  rapids  where  the  water  flowed  too  fast 
to  freeze. 

Tinkle,  tinkle  went  the  tiny  bell  on  the  shaft- 
mule;  click,  click  went  the  cart  as  the  mules 
trotted  briskly  over  one  of  the  very  few  good 
roads  a  Chinese  mule  ever  sees.  The  sun  came 
over  the  mountain  tops,  touching  that  deathlike 
gray  world  with  an  elfin  touch,  transforming  it 


70     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

into  a  shimmering  glory.  In  that  radiant  morn- 
ing, over  the  sparkling  ice  and  snow,  moved  the 
peasants,  bent  on  business,  bent  on  pleasure,  re- 
joicing with  the  married  children,  mourning  for 
the  dead.  Black  spots  advanced  out  of  a  shining 
haze,  grew  large,  took  on  shape. 

**  I  see  trees  as  men  walking,"  said  I  laughing. 

"  They  are  Koreans,"  said  my  husband. 

They  were  all  in  white,  with  their  billy-cock 
hats  perched  rakishly  on  top  of  their  fur  bonnets. 
From  the  soft  shining  distance  there  emerged 
great  produce  carts  pulled  by  long  lines  of  mules, 
with  dark-hooded  figures  huddled  on  the  top  of 
the  load.  Foot  travelers  came  along,  somberly 
clad,  stooped  low  under  the  loads  upon  their 
backs.  Slog,  slog,  they  moved  past  us.  There 
were  sledges  drawn  by  the  family  oxen.  By  the 
ox's  side  plodded  the  man  of  the  family;  on  the 
sledges,  wrapped  in  padded  blankets,  sat  gay  little 
ladies,  jewels  in  their  glossy  black  hair.  From 
the  blankets  peeped  bright-eyed  babies,  their 
cheeks  red  with  cold  and  daubs  of  paint.  Now 
that  the  crops  were  harvested  they  were  all  going 
a-visiting. 


/  Get  My  Hearfs  Desire  71 

The  little  padded  driver  drowsed.  The  right- 
hand  mule,  resembling  the  famous  Modestine, 
tried  to  take  every  snowy  by-path,  shied  at  every 
familiar  and  unfamiliar  object.  But  we  were 
very  gay  and  light-hearted  and  never  minded 
anything — just  watched  the  peasant  world  file 
past  us. 

"  Hey !  "  cried  my  husband,  as  that  wicked 
white  mule  gave  an  extra  jump,  "wake  up  here, 
Schnicklepenutz,  and  tend  these  mules." 

"  He's  not  a  German,  he's  got  a  queue,"  I 
protested. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  he's  square-headed  and  got 
short  legs,  and  Schnicklepenutz  he  shall  be," 
shouted  my  husband  from  over  the  top  of  his 
fur  collar. 

So  Schnicklepenutz  he  remained  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter,  and  drowsed  as  well  under  that  name 
as  under  any  other. 

"  And  Benoni  shall  be  the  name  of  the  driver 
of  the  other  cart,"  my  husband  continued;  "I 
feel  he  is  marked  for  tragedy." 

Hour  after  hour  the  country  slipped  slowly 
behind  us — each  stretch  a  repetition  of  the  last: 


72     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

low,  stony  hills,  narrow  valleys  with  the  ever- 
present  stream  meandering  down  them  but  now 
almost  imperceptible,  held,  as  they  were,  from 
their  meanderings  by  the  clutch  of  winter.  In 
each  valley  was  a  thatched-roofed,  brown  mud 
hut — sometimes  two — clinging  somewhere  up 
the  rocky  hills.  Over  the  tiny  fields,  from  which 
the  rocks  had  been  laboriously  cleared,  lay  a 
thicker  layer  of  snow  than  on  the  larger  stretches 
of  rocky  untilled  land  from  which  the  strong 
winds  blew  all  but  a  thin  coating.  Occasionally 
we  saw  a  hillside  covered  with  scrub-oak, — pre- 
served to  supply  food  for  the  silk  worms  of  this 
region.  These  scraps  of  tilled  land,  these  oc- 
casional hillsides  of  scrub-oak,  seemed  of  too 
small  area  to  account  for  the  quantities  of  beans 
stored  in  the  matting  towers  and  the  cocoons 
packed  in  huge  wicker  baskets,  which  we  found 
at  the  shipping  centers  along  the  river.  Nothing 
but  the  prodigious  toil  of  the  Chinese  frontier 
could  account  for  such  returns. 

Far  into  the  evening  we  rode  under  the  pale 
rays  of  the  moon.  We  were  going  to  do  a  splen- 
did day's  work — a  hundred  and  twenty  li  (forty 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  73 

miles).  The  road  was  good;  the  mules  were 
fresh;  and  we  unconscious  of  our  cart-bruises 
because  as  yet  we  had  not  slept  on  them.  Some- 
where about  nine  o'clock  we  drove  our  mules  up 
the  bank  into  the  street  of  the  first  town  from 
Antung.  The  town  was  dark  and  empty,  for 
the  curfew  rings  up  here  at  eight  o'clock.  All 
the  shutters  were  closed;  the  three  or  four  iron 
bars  of  each  door  were  slid  in  place.  Finally,  we 
found  the  shop  we  were  looking  for;  the  middle- 
man descended  and  hammered  on  the  door  until 
some  one  within  shouted  through  the  cracks  ask- 
ing who  we  were. 

"  K'ai  men,  k'ai  men!"  (Open  your  doors, 
open  your  doors !)  "  We  are  from  Antung.  We 
have  business  with  you." 

"  Wait,  wait !  "  they  cried,  "  we  must  ask  the 
head-man." 

More  questions  from  within,  more  waiting. 
Then  the  bars  were  slid  back  and  we  were  re- 
ceived with  Eastern  politeness,  served  with  tea 
as  we  warmed  our  hands  over  a  charcoal  brazier, 
and  then  given  a  warm  k'ang  in  an  inner  room. 

Ah  me!  the  change  in  our  spirits  in  twenty- 


74     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

four  hours.  All  we  desired  the  next  morning 
when  we  woke,  was  to  be  left  in  peace  on  the 
warm  k'ang.  We  were  so  stiff  and  sore  that  we 
did  not  like  to  think  of  carts.  But  unfortunately 
our  business  was  soon  done.  We  had  only  one 
difficulty  with  the  shop-owner.  Sometime  before 
he  had  been  sent  a  set  of  brass  signs  for  adver- 
tising purposes.  Considering  it  the  rankest 
extravagance  to  expose  such  beautiful  things  to 
the  elements,  he  had  carefully  wrapped  them  up 
and  put  them  away.  But  when  the  matter  had 
been  arranged  to  our  satisfaction  and  his  dis- 
approval, we  had  broken  bread  with  our  host  and 
were  again  on  our  way.  Nature  is  the  great 
restorer, — we  were  not  long  abroad  before  the 
pain  and  weariness  of  the  early  morning  were 
gone;  in  their  place  there  was  a  blessed  feeling 
of  vigor  and  renewed  life. 

There  was  a  north  wind  and  it  was  snowing — 
great,  heavy  flakes.  The  river  had  become  a 
stranger.  We  were  speechless,  enthralled,  unable 
to  take  our  eyes  from  so  compelling  a  thing.  The 
heaps  of  snow  looked  vague  and  unnatural;  the 
piles  of  ice  took  on  eerie  shapes.    They  became 


/  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  75 

but  the  vagaries  of  fancy.  The  hills  were  gone, 
the  gay  pageant  was  gone.  A  blurring,  blinding 
whiteness  enveloped  us.  We  felt  ourselves  alone 
in  a  world  of  savage  desolation.  The  snow  also 
blotted  out  all  sound.  The  mules  walked  now 
instead  of  trotting,  for  it  Was  hard  traveling  in 
the  fresh-fallen  snow;  so  our  gay  tinkling  bell 
and  our  cheerful  clickity-clack  were  silent.  The 
motion  of  the  cart  drugged  our  senses  a  little. 
Had  we  left  civilization  only  the  day  before? 
The  world  of  events  seemed  unreal.  We  had 
already  forgotten  daily  papers  and  mail.  Our 
interests  were  the  day's  stint  of  travel — and  the 
inn  at  the  end. 

At  four,  in  a  snowy  twilight,  we  saw  the  sign 
of  our  inn — the  hoops  of  red  cloth,  nothing  but 
a  dark  scarecrow  dangling  from  a  long  pole  stuck 
in  the  snow  on  the  high  bank  above  us.  Trusting 
that  the  swinging  rag  told  the  truth, — for  the 
bank  hid  any  sign  of  the  inn  itself, — we  ordered 
the  carters  to  drive  up  the  track.  With  the  last 
strain  of  the  mules  up  the  embankment,  we  found 
ourselves  in  the  inn  courtyard,  with  its  hastily 
built  brush-wood  fence,  to  which  the  dead  leaves 


76    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

still  clung.  The  building  was  a  long,  one-storied 
mud  hut  with  thatched  roof. 

We  entered.  Behold  what  the  frontiersman 
had  created  in  the  face  of  the  savage  winter! 
The  long  room  was  the  scene  of  homely  industry. 
From  the  center  rafter  hung  a  big  oil-lamp, 
shedding  its  rays  over  a  patriarchal  family  as 
busy  as  a  hive  of  bees.  By  the  clay  stove  sat 
the  grandfather  feeding  the  fire  with  twigs,  and 
tending  a  brood  of  children  playing  on  the  dirt 
floor  packed  hard,  swept  clean.  From  one 
corner  came  the  merry  whir  of  grinding  mill- 
stones, as  a  blindfolded  donkey  walked  round 
and  round,  while  a  woman  in  red  with  a  wonder- 
ful headdress  gathered  up  the  yellow  heaps  of 
cornmeal  that  oozed  from  the  gray  stones. 
More  women  in  red  threw  the  bright  meal  high 
in  the  air,  winnowing  it  of  its  chaff;  others  leaned 
over  clay  mortars,  pounding  condiments  with 
stone  pestles. 

Men  were  carrying  firewood,  and  cooking  for 
the  travelers.  One  end  of  the  room  was  reserved 
for  these  wayfarers,  but  the  k'ang  at  the  other 
end  was  divided  into  sections.    From  each  rafter 


C     C        t    it 


/  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  77 

over  each  section  swung  quaint  little  cradles;  in 
each  cradle  was  a  little  brown  baby,  each  baby 
tended  by  a  larger  child.  Thus  far  away  from 
the  loud  clamor  of  the  western  world,  we  fell 
asleep  in  a  clean  inner  room,  to  the  soft  sound 
of  swinging  cradles  and  grinding  mill-stones. 

Six  days,  and  the  first  stage  of  our  journey  is 
over.  We  have  reached  the  town  standing  where 
the  river  branches.  To-morrow  we  start  up  the 
right  arm  of  the  triangle,  cutting  ourselves  off 
from  the  mainland.  The  shop-keepers,  with 
whom  we  are  staying,  have  given  us  a  k'ang  in 
the  cake  kitchen.  In  a  niche  above  the  ovens  sits 
the  kitchen  god.  It  is  evening  now,  and  a  little 
apprentice  is  making  the  rounds  of  all  the  gods. 
He  has  just  been  in,  offered  incense  and  chin- 
chined  the  kitchen's  guardian  angel.  I  wonder 
if  he  looks  after  vagabonds  also — if  they  don't 
possess  kitchens  of  their  own? 

I  woke  in  what  seemed  the  dead  of  night,  so 
black  it  was,  with  only  the  tiny  points  of  light 
from  the  incense  glowing  in  the  room.  My  hus- 
band was  calling,   "Wake  up,  wake  up,  thou 


yS     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

sleepy  head;  it's  time  to  burn  our  bridges."  Then 
the  boy  entered  and  stuck  a  lighted  candle  in 
some  melted  wax  on  the  k'ang  table.  The  stage 
was  set  for  our  plunge  into  the  country  that 
might  become  isolated. 

Despite  our  early  rising  it  was  mid-forenoon 
before  we  left.  The  boy  had  been  warned  in  a 
dream  of  bandits,  and  it  caused  great  discussion; 
all  the  owners  of  the  shop  stopped  work  to  take 
part  in  it.  The  upshot  of  it  was  that  the  yamen 
doubled  our  escort. 

Almost  as  we  started,  the  character  of  the 
country  began  to  change:  the  slopes  of  the  hills 
grew  sharper,  the  valleys  narrower;  scattering 
hardwood  trees  appeared,  the  villages  became 
fewer  and  fewer,  the  grain-towers  we  saw  less 
and  less  often.  The  tracts  of  tilled  land  were 
far  apart  now. 

Each  day  the  snow  grew  deeper,  each  day  the 
cold  grew  greater.  The  people  became  rougher 
and  rougher,  the  inns  worse  and  worse.  The 
road,  which  very  often  lay  in  an  inner  valley — 
for  the  more  numerous  and  faster  flowing  rapids 
rendered  the  river  unsafe — crossed,  more  and 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  79 

more  frequently,  steeper  and  more  difficult  passes. 
We  came  to  estimate  the  day's  stint  of  travel,  no 
longer  in  li,  but  in  the  number  of  these  passes, 
for  we  had  to  walk  up  and  down  them,  as  they 
were  too  steep  and  too  slippery  for  riding  to 
be  safe. 

It  was  cold,  hard  work  climbing.  A  few  steps 
forward,  and  a  step  back  we  slid.  When  we 
stood,  at  last,  on  the  windy  tops,  there  was  inner 
vision  from  these  vantage-points.  We  looked 
at  the  grandeur  of  the  far-stretching  earth. 
Under  the  brilliant  Manchurian  sky  we  could  see 
for  miles  and  miles,  range  after  range  of  winter- 
white  hills,  bare  and  brown  in  spots  where  the 
wind  had  blown  the  snow  away.  A  few  brown 
huts  and  the  brown  circling  roadway  below  us 
were  the  only  signs  of  habitation.  All  things 
material  receded.  Even  the  hills  stood  aloof, 
clothed  in  cold  snow.  We  dwelt  apart  in  spiritual 
calm.  We  felt  at  one  with  the  learned  man  of 
India  who  had  at  his  finger-tips  all  the  ways  of 
London,  all  the  affairs  of  India,  and  yet  re- 
nounced everything  and  departed  far  into  the 
hills,  where,   on  the  brow  of  a  mountain,  he 


8o    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

made  himself  into  a  beggar  and  a  holy  man,  there 
to  spend  the  years  working  out  the  riddle  of 
existence.  We  were  one  with  the  Hebrew  crying, 
"  I  will  lift  up  my  eyes  unto  the  hills."  We 
were  one  with  the  first  Chinese  frontiersman 
who  had  made  it  his  duty  to  build  a  wayside 
shrine  just  where  the  road  went  over  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  leaving  a  tree  to  spread  its  protecting 
branches  in  wind  and  calm,  in  rain  and  sunshine, 
over  the  crude  altar.  We  longed  to  offer  incense 
there,  and  to  toll  the  bell  that  hung  from  a  branch 
of  the  tree,  and  thus  announce  to  the  valley  that 
one  more  man  had  felt  the  need  of  something 
beyond  food  and  raiment. 

Three  days  more.  Finally,  there  began  to  be 
timber  on  the  slopes.  There  was  scarcely  a  hut. 
The  first  day  we  lost  our  way  entirely  and  found 
ourselves  fifteen  li  off  our  road.  That  meant 
two  hours  more  added  to  the  traveling  day  and 
it  brought  us  at  tiffin  to  no  inn  at  all.  The  next 
day  we  met  a  peasant  boy  pulling  out  logs. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  inn  of  the  Virtuous 
Family?"  our  escort  cried,  stopping  him  on  the 
road. 


The  road  crossed  steeper  and  more  difficult  passes. 

[page  79] 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  8i 

"  To  hell  with  you !  "  the  boy  answered.  **  I'm 
not  going  along  the  road  to  tell  you  the  way/'  he 
finished  insolently. 

"  I'll  teach  you  to  insult  a  soldier  out  on  official 
business ! "  roared  our  escort,  hitting  him  with 
the  butt  of  his  rifle. 

Then,  so  quickly  that  it  made  us  blink,  down 
from  a  hut  on  the  hillside  came  the  men  of  the 
boy's  patriarchal  family.  The  oldest  one,  with 
a  quavering  voice  but  a  strong  right  arm,  be- 
labored our  erstwhile  brave  soldier  and  marched 
him  off  to  the  hut  on  the  hill.  It  had  all  taken 
time  and  night  was  coming  to  the  narrow  valley. 
We  were  a  bit  rueful  over  the  loss  of  half  our 
escort,  but  concluded  that  one  was  as  good  as 
two  of  such  brave  men,  and  hurried  along  with- 
out more  ado. 

When  we  entered  the  inn  that  night  we  beheld 
a  witch's  cave.  Great  clouds  of  smoke  circled 
to  the  dim  rafters,  great  clouds  of  steam  rose 
from  the  huge  caldrons  standing  over  the  open 
braziers.  Over  them  leaned  tall  men  of  the 
North,  their  faces  sinister  in  the  alternate  gloom 
and  flashes  of  light  from  the  wood  fires.    On  the 


82     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

long  k'angs  down  each  side  of  the  room  sprawled 
the  shadowy  figures  of  uncouth  wayfarers.  By 
the  dark,  grotesquely  small  k'ang  tables  they 
hunched,  drawing  in  hot  draughts  of  tea  with  a 
loud  sucking  sound.  The  earth  floor  was  wet 
and  slimy  with  the  melting  snow  from  the  feet 
of  many  comers.  The  dried  meat,  the  baskets 
of  condiments  hanging  by  crooked  sticks  from 
the  dimly  seen  rafters,  took  on  fantastic  and 
savage  shapes. 

Our  frugal  meal  of  hot  tea,  sausage,  and  dry 
bread  finished,  we  crawled  under  the  blankets  on 
one  end  of  the  warm  k'ang,  for  we  were  to  get 
no  privacy  that  night  (there  was  no  inner  room 
that  we  could  either  beg  or  command).  The 
warmth  was  acceptable,  and  despite  the  smoke 
and  flaring  fires  we  fell  asleep. 

I  was  dreaming  that  I  was  in  Dante's  Inferno 
when  I  awoke  to  find  it  no  idle  dream.  Many 
a  late  traveler  had  come  in  while  we  innocently 
slept.  The  cooking-pots  at  the  end  of  the  k'angs, 
whose  fires  served  the  double  purpose  of  heating 
the  k'angs  through  a  system  of  flues  and  cooking 
extra  large  quantities  of  chow,  had  been  filled 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  83 

to  their  utmost  capacity,  with  a  proportionate 
amount  of  fire  built  under  them.  So  while  the 
inn-keepers  did  a  thriving  business,  and  we  slept, 
the  stove  beds  grew  hotter  and  hotter,  until  the 
grateful  heat  of  early  evening  turned  into  a  red- 
hot  grill.  Wearily  we  turned  and  turned.  The 
sensation  was  that  of  freezing  on  our  upper 
side  and  grilling  on  our  lower.  Poking  holes 
in  the  paper  window  panes  we  watched  for  the 
dawn. 

With  the  first  streak  of  light  we  roused  our 
retinue.  That  day  we  were  to  make  Mao  Erh 
Shan,  the  Mecca  of  the  lumbering  man.  Every 
one  was  tired,  and  a  tired  Chinaman,  be  he  big, 
brave  soldier  or  stalwart  carter,  is  a  whining, 
crying  baby.  By  noon  one  soldier  had  left  his 
pony  to  wander  riderless  while  he  rode  on  the 
back  of  our  cart;  the  other  refused  to  trot  his 
animal.  "  It  was  colder  trotting,"  he  complained. 
The  carter,  too,  refused  to  hurry;  they  also  were 
tired  and  their  mules  as  well.  "  Let  us  stop," 
they  coaxed.  When  we  refused  they  all  started 
to  turn  in  at  a  wretched  inn  twenty  li  short  of 
Mao  Erh  Shan,  our  destination.     We  were  in 


84  Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 
despair.  Then  the  boy,  our  staff  and  our  rod  in 
difficulty,  came  to  the  rescue.  He  climbed  upon 
the  soldier's  pony;  he  beat  that  pony  into  a  wab- 
bling trot.  His  long  fur  gown  flapped  to  the 
four  winds;  the  pony  balked  and  plunged,  but 
the  boy  beat  on  and  on  with  a  little  no-account 
whip,  until  our  mules  sniffed  the  excitement  and 
actually  trotted.  The  twenty  li  were  made  and 
Mao  Erh  Shan.  Thus  ended  the  second  stage 
of  our  journey. 

Even  as  we  opened  our  eyes  the  next  morning 
we  were  conscious  that  we  were  no  longer  in  the 
silent,  white  wilderness.  We  sensed  the  now 
unaccustomed  sounds  and  smells  of  teeming  life. 
Our  breakfast  quickly  eaten,  we  were  out  on  the 
street.  Rough  characters  with  strong,  insolent 
faces  slouched  along;  the  restaurants  were  as 
thick  as  flies  in  summer.  The  occasional  shops 
looked  incredibly  prosperous  for  China.  There 
was  none  of  the  almost  penurious  thriftiness  that 
usually  marks  even  the  wealthiest  shops.  The 
owners  boasted  that  they  had  refused  the  agency 
of  several  large  foreign  firms.    "  It  doesn't  pay 


/  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  85 

to  bother  with  them,"  they  said  arrogantly.  They 
saw  things  large,  they  *  talked  big/ 

Thirty  years  ago  this  place  had  been  a  little 
village  with  one  or  two  stores,  a  few  huts,  and  a 
military  post.  Then  it  constituted  the  farthest 
post  on  the  Yalu  where  the  Chinese  had  estab- 
lished authority.  Now,  except  for  Antung,  it  is 
the  largest  place  on  the  river  and  authority  of  a 
rough  order  has  been  established  clear  to  the 
Russian  border.  When  the  Japanese  say  that 
the  Chinese,  when  left  to  themselves,  do  not  de- 
velop their  undeveloped  country,  I  wonder  if  they 
forget  such  towns  as  this. 

Everywhere  were  the  evidences  of  the  good 
wages,  the  large  profits  of  a  new  country.  It 
reminded  one  of  the  mad  life  of  Alaska  when 
the  miners  came  in  with  their  .pokes  of  gold. 
Money  came  easily  and  it  went  even  more  easily. 
Lust  and  license  ran  riot  as  they  do  in  lumbering 
camps  the  world  over,  only  here  there  was  the 
momentum  gained  from  a  wild  Oriental  abandon. 
On  the  edge  of  the  clean,  new  country  men  were 
crazed  with  the  possession  of  money  easily 
obtained. 


86    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

After  two  days  of  struggle  with  these  men 
swollen  with  power,  my  husband  decided  to  move 
on.  We  could  delay  no  longer.  It  was  March 
now,  and  we  still  had  seven  days'  journey 
through  the  forest  to  the  other  tributary,  which 
we  must  cross  to  get  over  to  Manchuria's  main- 
land. And  we  had  to  give  up  a  slight  hope  that 
had  lurked  in  our  minds, — the  hope  that  we  might 
make  the  journey  to  the  Long  White  Mountain. 
We  yearned  to  see  the  mountain  about  which 
clung  innumerable  legends  and  from  which  the 
country  took  its  old  name — the  Land  of  the 
Long  White  Mountain.  It  had  other  lures  too: 
it  was  very  beautiful  with  its  sides  all  powdered 
with  disintegrating  pumice  stone,  and — must  1 
own? — its  greatest  attraction  lay  in  the  fact  that 
it  had  never  been  visited  by  any  foreigners  except 
a  Jesuit  priest  and  Younghusband's  party.  The 
out-of-the-way  is  always  a  magic  thing  to  the 
vagabond  pioneer.  But  there  was  no  business 
with  the  rude  lumbering  camps  in  that  direction 
and,  too,  the  mountain  lay  due  north  some  three 
hundred  li,  which  meant,  if  we  visited  it,  we 
would  be  at  least  a  week  later  in  reaching  that 


/  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  87 

tributary,  which  separated  us  from  the  mainland. 
So  we  resolutely  turned  our  backs  on  the  fairy- 
white  mountain  with  its  *  Blue  Dragon  Prince ' 
pool  at  the  top,  set  in  jagged  juttings  of  powdery 
white  pumice.  Yes,  we  turned  our  backs  on  it 
and  started  due  west  towards  that  tributary  that 
now  began  to  loom  large  in  our  minds. 

In  a  half -hour  after  leaving  the  roaring,  rioting 
town  we  were  in  the  thin  edge  of  the^virgin  forest 
underneath  which  lay  China's  hidden  treasures  of 
coal  and  copper  and  gold.  Soon  we  had  for- 
gotten the  Long  White  Mountain  in  the  beauty 
of  this  other,  almost  as  much  untrod,  country. 
Oh,  the  wonder  of  those  days !  We  saw  the  earth 
almost  as  it  was  made  in  the  beginning.  There 
was  no  restless  haste  here,  no  disorder.  Man's 
hand  was  scarcely  perceptible.  There  were  just 
the  swift-rising  ranges  of  mountains,  the  heaped- 
up  piles  of  snow,  the  great  giant  trees  lifting  their 
branches  high,  high  above  us,  mingling  up  in  the 
sky  in  a  glorious  tangle.  Deeper  and  deeper  we 
penetrated,  higher  and  higher  we  climbed.  There 
was  ineffable  stillness  and  peace  boundless, 
eternal.    We  had  passed,  for  the  time,  far  away 


88     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

from  man.  We  saw  the  activities  of  our  lives  in 
the  perspective  of  the  past  days  of  toiHng  travel. 
At  last  we  stood  on  the  highest  pass  in  all  our 
journey.  Around  us  was  sunshine  and  sparkling 
snow ;  close  at  hand  a  dead  pine,  bare  and  naked, 
stood  out  majestically.  Down  the  slopes  marched 
the  trees;  far-off  the  mountains  were  gray,  hidden 
in  fast-rising  snow  squalls.  A  great  wind  came 
biting  against  us.    It  was  a  supreme  moment. 

We  stood  thus  only  the  moment;  then  the  sun 
fast  nearing  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  and  the 
threatening  snow  squalls,  warned  us  to  hurry 
and  we  started  the  long  tramp  to  the  valley  below. 
(Riding  was  not  safe.)  Just  as  the  early  dark- 
ness was  settling  down  and  the  snow  flurries  were 
becoming  formidable  enemies,  we  reached  the 
inn  which  stood  in  a  little  clearing  at  the  foot. 
It  was  the  loneliest-looking  habitation  I  had  ever 
seen;  its  very  strength  enhanced  its  loneliness, 
making  it  look  as  if  it  pitted  itself  against  the 
great  primeval  savagery  of  the  dark  forest  that 
came  down  close  to  the  back  wall  of  the  inn.  The 
walls  were  of  huge  logs,  the  chimneys  were  also 
of  logs,  hollowed,  and  the  roof  had  shingles  as 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  89 

thick  as  a  man's  fist.  There  were  a  few  feet  of 
courtyard  in  front  scarcely  big  enough  for  our 
carts  and  the  pack-saddles  of  a  mule  train  stop- 
ping there  for  the  night;  then  the  forest  began 
again.  And  the  inn-keepers  looked  as  if  they 
might  well  be  members  of  the  bandit  raiders  they 
complained  about. 

"  We  make  no  money,"  they  growled.  "  One 
night  a  band  of  robbers  comes  down  out  of  the 
mountains  and  they  make  us  feed  them;  the  next 
night  the  soldiers  come  after  the  bandits  and  the 
law  makes  us  feed  them  for  three  cents  apiece  and 
they  eat  a  lot.'*  (Perhaps  then  we  should  not 
have  blamed  them  for  soaking  the  corn  for  our 
mules  before  they  measured  it.)  What  scenes 
peopled  my  thoughts!  On  nights  like  this  when 
the  wind  was  moaning  among  the  huge  trees  of 
the  dark  forest,  which  stood  so  near,  and  the 
branches  beat  crazily  on  the  mammoth  shingles 
of  the  roof,  then  the  door  would  be  pushed  vio- 
lently open  and  wild,  unkempt  bandits  of  the 
mountains  would  come  in,  bringing  the  wild  night 
with  them.  But  they  did  not  come  that  night 
and  through  sheer  exhaustion  we  slept  through- 


90    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

out  the  mountain  storm  that  all  night  belabored 
our  shelter. 

The  next  day  we  crossed  the  last  high  range 
of  mountains,  and  descended  into  the  more 
sheltered  and  more  populated  land  on  the  other 
side.  With  a  gasp  we  realized  that  there  was 
something  new  in  the  air,  something  living, 
something  fresh.  "  Look !  "  I  cried.  We  looked 
around  us  at  the  ground,  at  the  sun;  we  looked 
at  each  other.  We  reached  our  hands  out 
beyond  the  cart.  The  wind  touched  them 
softly. 

"  Great  suffering  Mike,"  groaned  my  husband, 
"  it  looks  like  spring,  it  feels  like  spring,  it  smells 
like  spring,  and  by  gorry,  it  is  spring!  A  few 
days  like  this  and  the  river  will  be  too  rotten  to 
risk  the  carts  on  it." 

'*  It  cannot  be,"  I  said.  "  Why,  it  was  only 
yesterday  that  we  ran  and  thrashed  around  to 
keep  from  freezing." 

"  And  we  have  nearly  a  thousand  li  more  to 
Ho,"  continued  my  husband. 

"  Wake  up,  wake  up,  old  Schnicklepenutz,"  we 
both  cried,  poking  the  driver's  drowsy,  padded 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  91 

back.  "  It's  going  to  be  a  race  with  spring. 
None  of  your  Eastern  procrastination." 

Thud,  our  cart  roundly  struck  a  stone  in  the 
soft  snow.  We  hadn't  time  to  consider  its  mes- 
sage before  we  saw  ahead  the  undeniable  sheen 
of  water  in  the  two  cart-tracks  down  each  side 
of  the  road.  It  was  on  the  edge  of  a  lumbering 
camp. 

"  Oh,  well,"  we  said,  "  it's  just  because  there 
is  so  much  traffic  here.    The  roads  cannot  melt 


so  soon." 


As  you  cannot  be  vagabonds  unless  you  can 
forget  future  dangers  in  present  joys,  we,  of 
course,  forgot  all  about  our  worries  when  we 
heard  the  lovely  hum  of  work  in  the  camp. 
There  was  the  chip,  chip,  of  the  axes  mingled  with 
the  loud  whir  of  the  huge  saws  as  the  man  be- 
neath the  propped-up  log  pulled  the  saw  towards 
him,  and  the  quicker  whir  as  the  man  on  top 
pulled  back  again.  There  was  the  smell  of  new- 
cut  timber,  blending  with  the  pungent  odor  of 
the  chip  fires  of  fresh  pine,  and  just  ahead  they 
said  was  the  "  Not  Far  Away  Inn  " — and  tiffin. 

"This  afternoon,"  we  decided,  "we  must  go 


92     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

a  long  way  before  we  stop.  Somehow  we've  got 
to  manage  to  hustle  the  East  and  we've  got  to 
get  started  sooner  at  noon  than  we  usually 
do." 

Oh,  for  the  best-laid  plans  of  mice  and  men! 

"  We'll  have  beans,  boy,"  we  said,  "  and  tell 
the  carters  chop,  chop,  must  hurry." 

"  Master,"  replied  the  boy,  "  carters  say  must 
stop,  very  late  now,  to-morrow  can  go.'* 

"Why?"  cried  we. 

"  Mules  very  tired." 

We  were  paying  the  carters  by  the  day;  hence 
the  need  for  rest.  If  you  pay  them  by  the  trip, 
they  get  you  out  of  bed  at  all  hours  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  tell  you  all  sorts  of  tales  about  there 
being  no  good  inns,  in  order  to  induce  you  to 
go  farther  at  night.  If  you  travel  by  the  day, 
there  is  a  sudden  deep  concern  for  their  animals 
and  an  astonishing  number  of  sick  mules.  Just 
now,  however,  we  wished  we  were  paying  by  the 
trip. 

"Tell  carters,  must  go.  No  go,  no  money 
to-day."  The  boy  departed  and  we  went  on  with 
our  beans. 


I  Get  My  Hearths  Desire  93 

"  All  right/*  said  the  boy  returning,  "  can  go 
little  way." 

But  we  had  no  sooner  finished  our  beans  than 
a  soldier  from  the  town  entered,  clicked  his  heels 
.  (if  one  can  be  said  to  click  heels  booted  in  cloth 
shoes),  and  stood  at  attention. 

"  The  head  man  of  the  town  invites  you  to  be 
so  good  as  to  remain  here  for  the  rest  of  to-day. 
There  is  a  band  of  two  hundred  hun-hu-tzus 
coming  down  from  the  North.  He  has  sent  out 
the  soldiers,  but  there  may  be  fighting  and  per- 
haps on  the  road,  and  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
wait,  at  least  until  to-morrow  ?  " 

Of  course  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  *  be  so 
kind  as  to  wait.'  The  carters  had  a  lovely,  quiet 
afternoon  of  snoring  sleep  after  their  midday 
wine ;  for  us  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  go  out 
and  ruefully  survey  the  snow  melting  in  the 
afternoon  sun,  and  sit  in  the  inn  listening  to 
tales  of  bandits.  But  when  evening  came  and 
we  lay,  wrapped  in  blankets,  Roman  fashion,  by 
our  k'ang  table,  the  old  carefree  spirit  descended 
upon  us. 

Whether  it  was  due  entirely  to  fate,  or  whether 


94     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

the  gods  conspired  against  us,  I  really  cannot 
say.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  the  latter.  I  think 
the  gods  reasoned  this  way:  We  cannot  allow- 
any  one  to  hurry  the  East,  however  necessary  it 
may  be  to  him  personally.  If  it  is  once  allowed, 
there  is  no  telling  where  it  will  stop.  We  must 
save  a  few  quiet  corners,  else  gods,  and  fairies, 
and  beloved  vagabonds  will  disappear. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  we  had  carried  out  our 
rushing  program  for  only  two  days  when,  in  a 
wide  valley  between  hills,  our  shaft-mule  fell 
lame.  First  he  began  going  very  slowly,  then 
he  limped,  and  finally,  as  we  came  to  the  end  of 
the  valley  and  started  on  the  inevitable  pull  up- 
wards, he  refused  altogether  to  go  on.  What 
were  we  to  do?  Schnicklepenutz  got  down  to 
look  him  over.  He  grunted  angrily;  it  was  evi- 
dent that  he  was  not  going  to  risk  the  life  of 
a  perfectly  good  mule. 

Then  there  was  a  consultation  and  an  argu- 
ment; everybody  got  out.  First  Benoni  climbed 
down  from  his  cart,  then  came  the  boy,  then  our 
middle-man  extricated  himself,  and  last  of  all, 
as  he  could  not  be  heard  in  the  discussion,  down 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  95 

jumped  my  husband.  Sun,  the  middle-man,  who 
liked  ease  and  not  too  many  hours  in  a  cart,  was 
for  stopping.  Schnicklepenutz,  who  wished  to 
lose  neither  his  mule  nor  his  three  good  dollars 
a  day,  was  also  all  for  stopping.  The  boy,  who 
cared  not  a  fig  for  the  mule,  the  money  or  the 
ease,  was  for  going  on;  not  that  he  felt  the 
danger  of  delay, — to  that  all  Chinese  are  superbly 
indifferent, — but  he  was  highly  disgusted  with 
them  all.  We  who  had  been  brought  up  under 
the  sheltering  arms  of  the  S.  P.  C.  A.,  but  who, 
nevertheless,  did  not  intend  to  risk  our  lives  on 
the  rotten  ice  of  the  far-away  river,  were  for 
hunting  a  new  equipment;  only  we  knew  all  too 
well  that,  if  our  retinue  wanted  something  else, 
however  acquiescent  they  might  seem  to  our 
wishes,  the  new  equipment  would  not  be  forth- 
coming. Then  Benoni,  who  was  a  relative  of 
Schnicklepenutz  and  who  wanted  to  keep  intact 
the  mules  and  money  of  the  family,  offered  a 
solution:  put  our  big  white  puUing-mule  in  the 
shafts  and  give  the  lame  one  the  lighter  work. 
Since  the  big  white  one  had  never  been  in  the 
shafts  and  was  an  ill-tempered  beast  to  boot,  he. 


96    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

Benoni,  would  be  the  driver,  as  he  was  the  best 
hand  with  the  animals. 

The  leather  buckled,  the  ropes  tied,  the  strings 
of  the  mysterious  harness  knotted,  the  big  mule 
gave  a  wicked  shake  in  the  shafts,  then  started 
to  climb  without  more  ado.  The  scheme  had 
worked !  By  our  watches  we  had  lost  only  half 
an  hour. 

Up  we  climbed,  the  big  mule  pulling  bravely 
and  the  alert  Benoni  flicking  the  ears  of  all  three 
at  just  the  moment  to  avoid  every  frozen  lump, 
every  stone.  It  was  the  work  of  art,  the  ascent 
of  that  pass !  We  almost  concluded  to  ride  down 
in  order  to  save  time  and  see  Benoni's  fine  work. 
Still,  as  Schnicklepenutz,  his  heavy  brain  working 
more  slowly,  had  not  reached  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  we  might  as  well  walk,  specially  as  Benoni 
was  discreetly  tying  our  wheels.  We  waved  him 
on;  it  is  never  safe  to  be  ahead  of  the  carts 
on  a  down  grade,  for  sometimes  they  take  a 
sudden  slide.  Benoni,  whips  and  lines  in  one 
hand  and  the  other  free  to  steady  the  cart,  ran 
along  at  the  side.  ''  Tbu,  tsu,  oah,  oahf'  The 
white  mule  squared  his  haunches,  planted  all  his 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  97 

four  feet  firmly;  the  cart  with  its  unrevolving 
wheels  slid  slowly  behind  him. 

"  Heigh  ho,  heigh  ho,"  we  cried,  "  we  sing  to 
the  luck  of  our  roamings/'  And  we  danced  after 
them  down  the  wintry  road.  We  fell  behind, 
panting,  and  then  stopped,  transfixed  to  the  spot. 
"Oh!  oh!  the  cart!  the  mules!  Benoni!"  The 
mules  were  running;  the  cart  was  hopping  at 
their  heels.  Benoni  was  plunging  along,  but 
never  for  an  instant  did  he  stop  swinging  that 
circling  whip.  Heaven  only  knows  how  he 
guided  those  two  front  mules  with  the  wicked, 
white  one  careering  at  their  heels ! 

Now  the  mules  were  galloping !  The  cart  was 
climbing,  like  a  man  demon,  on  the  very  backs 
of  them.  The  melting  snow  hid  a  glaze  of 
slippery  ice,  and  Benoni's  felt  shoes  were  his 
undoing.  Running  full  tilt,  down  he  went,  his 
whip  still  waving,  and  slid  headlong  over  the 
ice.  In  one  lightning  moment  the  heavy  studded 
wheel  of  the  cart  rode  over  him.  We  closed 
our  eyes. 

When  we  looked,  Benoni  was  dragging  him- 
self by  means  of  his  hands  back  up  the  road 


98    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

towards  us.  His  first  instinct  pulled  him  away 
from  that  awful  solitary  experience  back  to  his 
fellows.  Not  far  below  him  was  his  cart  all 
tangled  in  some  underbrush,  hanging  just  above 
a  precipice,  and  the  mules  lying  flat  in  the  snarled 
harness,  with  one  shaft  pinning  the  white  mule 
to  the  ground. 

By  this  time  we  had  all,  even  the  supercilious 
Sung,  reached  Benoni.  Why  he  was  alive  we 
could  not  understand;  but  we  found  that  the  ugly 
wheel  had  passed  over  his  leg  only  and  his  padded 
trousers — two  or  three  pairs — had  saved  it  from 
being  broken.  There  was  the  mark  of  the  iron 
studding  on  his  flesh,  and  his  face  was  white 
and  drawn  with  suffering.  With  set  teeth  he 
got  up  on  his  feet  and  took  a  few  steps  towards 
the  inn  in  the  valley  below.  Schnicklepenutz  had 
already  departed  to  view  the  wreck  of  his  pos- 
sessions. Hurt  relatives  were  all  very  well,  but 
what  about  hurt  mules  and  broken  carts?  We 
turned  around  to  see  his  short  legs  astride  one 
mule's  head.  The  bad  mule  had  grown  restive 
and  was  endangering  the  cart  and  the  mules, 
himself  included.    We  bethought  ourselves  of  our 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire  99 

own  possessions,  corraled  a  passer-by  for  Benoni 
to  lean  upon,  and  departed.  The  stout  cart  and 
stouter  mules  were  all  right,  but  the  ropes  that 
held  our  boxes  to  the  back  of  the  cart  had  broken, 
and  our  clothes,  business  reports,  and  cherished 
rations  were  scattered  far  down  the  ravine.  A 
lame  mule,  a  morning  lost,  a  hurt  driver,  our  few 
remaining  biscuits  in  the  mud  at  the  bottom  of 
the  ravine,  business  reports  torn,  and  no  farther 
towards  that  river. 

"  We  will  not  try  to  hustle  the  East,"  ruefully 
said  my  husband,  "  even  the  mules  are  against  it. 
Still,  there's  the  river!'' 

In  the  course  of  the  next  two  hours  we  all 
reached  the  inn,  where  they  applied  hot  wine  to 
poor  Benoni's  wounds.  Then  there  was  the 
discussion  all  over  again  as  to  what  to  do  with 
the  lame  mule,  but  now  there  was  the  added  diffi- 
culty of  the  hurt  driver.  Every  one  took  sides 
about  as  they  had  in  the  morning.  There  turned 
out  to  be  not  a  single  cart  in  this  tiny  village; 
and  the  inn-keeper  informed  us  that,  as  they 
could  not  be  used  very  often  on  the  mountain 


lOO     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

roads,  no  one  in  the  whole  countryside  owned 
one.  There  were  some  in  the  next  large  town 
but  that  was  on  a  round-about  route.  It  was 
the  best  we  could  do,  and  it  was  evident  we 
must  start  that  afternoon  on  the  day-and-a-hal£ 
journey  to  that  cart.  It  seemed  cruel  to  Benoni, 
but  it  was  the  least  of  several  evils.  If  he  were 
only  badly  bruised,  he  would  be  stiffer  and  sorer 
long  before  he  was  better.  If  it  were  something 
worse,  our  best  move  was  to  get  him  to  a  doctor 
as  soon  as  possible.  Of  course,  this  wilderness 
possessed  none. 

Theories  were  good,  but  who  should  drive? 
It  takes  a  long  time  to  learn  to  drive  the  pro- 
verbially stubborn  mule  with  the  flick  of  a  whip 
and  a  few  guttural  notes.  Up  came  the  boy. 
Why  had  we  not  thought  of  him  before  ?  Wasn't 
he  a  carpenter,  a  poler  of  boats,  a  farmer  ?  Why 
not  a  driver  also?  He  did  not  know  how  to 
drive  very  well,  but  he  knew  how  to  flick  the 
whip  and  Benoni  promised  he  would  sit  out  in 
front  and  give  the  tzu  tzus  and  oah  oaks,  and 
Schnicklepenutz  was  to  drive  each  cart  in  turn 


/  Get  My  Heart's  Desire         loi 

down  the  passes.    With  such  highly  specialized 
labor  we  started. 

The  first  day  was  finished.  We  had  moved 
slowly  but  surely  toward  our  destination.  A 
second  day  and  then  a  third,  and  we  were 
started  on  the  fourth.  By  changing  our  course 
we  had  struck  on  an  unfrequented  road  and  we 
had  numerous  accidents.  Our  highly  specialized 
labor  was  very  slow.  That  day  we  had  to  grit 
our  teeth  anew.  There  is  no  quitting  on  the  * 
trail,  even  if  a  steep  pass  does  suddenly  con- 
front you  towards  dark,  after  the  evening  freeze 
has  set  in  and  made  the  melting  streams  that 
had  covered  the  road  during  the  day  turn  to  a 
smooth  glare.  Lame  mule,  sick  driver,  every 
one  had  to  buckle  to  the  work  in  hand.  Every 
one  except  the  sick  driver  was  out  to  lighten 
the  pull-back  of  the  carts.  The  drivers  clucked 
and  clucked  and  when  the  mules  slipped  and  gave 
up,  slash !  went  the  whips,  goading  them  on  to  a 
frantic  leap.  One  'escort'  and  my  husband 
pushed  from  behind;  Sung  and  I  followed  with 
rocks  to  block  the  wheels  if  the  cart  started 
sliding.    We  were  on  the  last  steep  grade.    The 


102  '  rioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

lame  mule,  panting,  sweating,  went  down;  the 
cart  slid;  our  stones  did  not  hold,  back  towards 
the  other  cart  it  began  to  glide.  Frantically  we 
clawed  the  freezing  earth  for  fresh  boulders.  It 
was  a  sickening  moment,  but  we  got  them  there 
in  time. 

Just  how  that  last  grade  was  made  I  do  not 
know.  I  have  a  half-remembered  impression  of 
all  the  mules  being  harnessed  first  to  one  cart 
and  then  to  the  other,  and  of  the  men  giving 
the  whole  of  their  strength  to  pushing  until, 
man  and  beast,  we  all  stood  at  the  top.  My 
whole  will  was  set  on  the  task  of  not  being  a 
baby.  I  must  not  be  a  quitter  now.  Long  ago 
I  had  honestly  earned  the  name  of  '  trail  woman ' 
from  my  husband,  and  I  was  not  going  to  lose 
it  now.  I  kept  saying  to  myself,  "  Brace  up  and 
be  a  man."  So  saying,  and  watching  the  moon- 
light streaming  over  the  valley,  I  kept  plodding 
behind  my  husband  towards  a  light  that  seemed 
to  evade  our  approach.  Then,  after  an  eternity, 
we  were  at  the  inn  and  drinking  hot  tea  that 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes.  It  was  just  the  tea,  I 
am  sure;  and  my  husband  did  not  see  them. 


•  »••       ••••• 

•  9    •  «  •     •     9 


•  •-     •  '.»    »    ^,^ 


^«^  it'^  /f«^  numerous  accidents. 


[page  101] 


t       J  r    t      e   o     e   •  e  •        c  •    e '» «  *        «      c  * 


I  Get  My  Heart's  Desire         103 

Benoni  secured  a  driver  for  his  team  and  we 
got  a  whole  outfit  to  take  the  place  of  Schnickle- 
penutz's.  Such  a  cart !  It  was  like  the  one-horse 
shay — so  old  that  if  it  broke  at  all  it  would  be 
a  final  break-up;  and  the  driver  resembled  the 
equipage.  Old  in  limb  and  soul,  he  had  no 
interest  in  anything  but  a  large  bean-cake  for 
fodder  which,  with  the  stubbornness  of  old  age, 
he  was  determined  to  put  directly  under  the 
place  where  I  sat.  And  we  named  him  Jehoso- 
phat.  We  planned  it  all  out:  six  hundred  li  to 
do;  ten  li  an  hour;  ten  hours  a  day,  a  stop  of  one 
day  at  the  station  on  the  river.  And  then 
across — if  the  gods  were  good ! 

We  made  the  river  in  the  seven  days!  They 
said  carts  were  still  crossing,  but  that  was  not 
altogether  reassuring.  The  Chinese  often  cross 
frozen  rivers  till  some  one  falls  in.  Still,  we 
thought  the  thaws  had  not  been  sufficient  to  melt 
the  thick  underlying  masses  of  ice.  If  only  we 
did  not  encounter  too  thin  a  place ! 

To  the  river  we  went  in  the  gray  early  morn- 
ing. We  all  sat  perched  on  the  front  of  the 
cart  (the  inside  would  be  a  death-trap  should  we 


I04    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

go  through).  There  were  several  tracks.  We 
picked  the  safest  looking.  Onto  the  ice  we 
drove.  Slash!  went  the  driver's  whip,  flicking 
each  mule's  ears.  They  plunged  into  a  wild 
gallop.  We  were  half-way  there.  We  could 
feel  the  ice  bend  under  us.  Jehosophat,  the  old, 
the  stolid,  became  motion  incarnate.  His  arms 
flapped,  his  whip  flew.  He  waved  his  feet,  he 
brought  them  bang!  against  the  shaft  mule.  He 
yapped  like  a  dog.  The  ice  crackled!  Faster! 
Faster ! 

We  stood  again  on  the  good  firm  ground  of 
Manchuria,  and  lo,  all  motion  had  left  Jehoso- 
phat. He  looked  like  a  lump  of  flesh  unquickened 
by  flame  or  fire.  We  looked  behind  us:  our 
other  cart  was  safe  also.  But  over  the  place 
where  we  had  just  crossed  spread  a  great  and 
widening  crack.  The  triangular  land  was  enter- 
ing into  its  spring  isolation. 


CHAPTER  VI 


JUST  AN  ODD  LEAF  IN  MY  NOTE-BOOK. 
THE  SOUTH  WIND  BLOWS 


What  a  long,  long  time  since  we  saw  that 
far-off  strip  of  Manchuria,  entering  into  its 
spring  isolation.  We  said  to  each  other  as  we 
made  the  rest  of  the  journey  through  the  moun- 
tains where  the  roads  were  breaking :  "  Spring  is 
here."  For  each  day  the  sun  was  a  little  warmer 
and  each  day  the  deep  layers  of  frost  melted  a 
little  more  and  each  day  the  mud  was  deeper 
and  there  was  that  unmistakable  smell  of  fresh 
damp  earth  that  comes  with  the  spring.  Oh, 
what  fools  we  mortals  be!  What  we  desire  we 
trick  ourselves  into  believing  in  the  existence  of. 
How  many  times  since  then  have  we  believed  in 
the  presence  of  this  northern  spring,  although 
from  past  experience  we  know  that  she  always 
trifles  with  us,  advancing  and  retreating  many 
times  before  she  comes  to  stay?  And  yet  my 
105 


io6    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

husband  said  to  me  as  we  plodded  along  through 
the  mountains,  "  I  think  the  in-between  time  this 
year  will  be  very  short  There  will  of  course 
be  a  little  time  when  the  roads  will  be  so  sticky 
that  there  won't  be  much  travel  for  you.  But 
I  think  the  ice  will  be  out  of  the  Yalu  early  this 
year  and  we'll  go  in  a  junk  part  way  up  the 
river."  And  because  I  so  much  wanted  to,  I 
beheved. 

But  that  was  weeks  ago  and  where  now,  even 
now,  is  the  spring?  I  am  again  alone,  waiting. 
For  a  month  we  have  had  the  strong  south 
winds  which  all  we  foreigners  in  Manchuria 
know  and  dread.  The  south  wind  blows  un- 
ceasingly and  we  live  in  the  midst  of  a  brown 
blizzard  that  smears  our  whole  world  into  a 
monotonous  dull  brown — the  color  of  the  native 
huts.  Our  garden  plots  are  brown,  the  streets 
are  brown,  the  air  is  brown.  The  same  brown 
dust  even  sifts  into  our  houses,  settling  every- 
where. There  is  no  play  in  this  wind,  no  coming 
and  going  and  soft  flutterings.  It  is  a  steady, 
constant  blow  day  after  day,  day  after  day,  and 
our  windows  rattle  unceasingly.    Thus  I  wait  for 


The  South  Wind  Blows  107 

the  long  deferred  Manchurian  spring.  But  it 
is  a  thing  worth  waiting  for — when  it  comes  it 
is  a  thing  of  almost  startling  beauty.  In  the 
meantime  I  have  recourse  to  a  gift  given  to 
pioneers  who  are  much  alone — the  gift  of 
dreams.  And  in  dreams  there  are  no  trails  too 
hard  for  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   MANCHURIAN   SPRING,   A  JUNK,   AND 
UNCERTAINTY 

Sun-libertine  am  I; 
A-wandering,  a-wandering, 
Until  the  day  I  die. 

— Robert  W.  Service. 

All  agree  that  the  long-deferred  short-lived 
Manchurian  spring  has  come  at  last;  although 
it  would  seem  to  be  largely  a  matter  of  faith, 
for  as  yet  there  has  been  only  an  occasional 
cessation  of  those  south  winds  that  have  tor- 
mented us  for  weeks  on  end;  to-day  to  add  to 
them  we  are  caught  in  a  greater,  a  browner  fury 
— a  Gobi  dust  storm.  To  the  local  dust  is  added 
the  browner,  thicker  dust  swept  down  from  the 
desert. 

But  what  care  we?  We  are  in  the  delightful 
process  of  preparing  for  another  experience  on 
the  trail.  Early  this  afternoon,  donning  dust- 
goggles  and  all-enveloping  coats,  we  went  boldly 

io8 


The  Manchurian  Spring  109 

forth  to  the  little  foreign  store — which  closely 
resembles  a  country  store  at  a  four-corners  in 
America  and  is  well-nigh  as  resourceful — and 
bought  tinned  sausage,  ham,  milk,  butter,  pickles, 
and  crackers,  with  a  constantly  growing  appetite. 
Then  we  hurried  home  to  spend  the  rest  of  the 
blustering  day  sitting  on  the  floor  of  our  hall, 
packing  our  chests.  We  were  oblivious  of  chance 
callers  and  of  every  convention,  and  oblivious 
also  of  the  brown  dust  and  that  never-ending 
wind.  For  is  there  anything  so  effacing  of  all 
surroundings  as  the  contentment  of  the  inveterate 
wanderer  as  he  packs  his  well-used  equipment 
of  the  trail  for  use  on  a  new  venture — an  adven- 
ture into  country  so  little  known  that  both  its 
dangers  and  its  joys  are  left  to  him  to  discover? 
As  I  ripped  the  fur  lining  from  the  well-worn 
trousers  and  jacket  which  had  given  me  service 
on  our  long  winter  journey,  I  was  engaged  in 
just  such  contemplation.  Our  junk  trip  up  the 
Yalu  was  at  hand;  this  was  the  favorable  mo- 
ment, for  the  river  was  now  free  from  floating 
cakes  of  ice,  and  the  melting  of  the  heavy  snows 
at  the  river's  source,  high  in  the  Long  White 


no    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

Mountain,  which  put  the  river  in  flood,  had 
scarcely  begun.  How  difficuh  the  ascent  of  the 
river  will  be,  or  how  far  we  can  go,  we  do  not 
know.  We  do  know  that  our  journey  will  not 
include  the  land  trip  across  the  triangular-shaped 
piece  of  Manchuria,  for  those  partial  trails  are 
now  not  passable.  What  we  do  hope  to  do  is 
to  reach  the  lumber  camp  up  the  right  branch  of 
the  river,  but  we  do  not  know  how  possible  will 
be  the  ascent  of  the  river  even  to  that  point; 
the  river  is  full  of  rapids,  but  how  deep  or 
swift  they  will  be  at  this  season  of  the  year  we 
have  no  means  of  determining.  Everything  de- 
pends on  the  winds  and  how  much  of  the  winter 
snows  have  melted.  "  Would  the  journey  be  at 
all  like  a  trip  through  the  rapids  of  the  Yangtze, 
a  journey  that  is  one  long  excitement  from  be- 
ginning to  end  ?  "  I  speculated  as  I  finished  my 
ripping  and  stuffed  my  suit  into  the  last  inch 
of  space  in  the  chest.  At  any  rate  the  journey 
meant  spring  in  a  junk  and  uncertainty.  Thus 
my  great  satisfaction. 

In  the  late  afternoon,  we  were  again  on  the 
Japanese  train,  and  again  I  was  straining  my 


The  Manchurian  Spring  in 

eyes  into  the  gathering  darkness.  As  many  times 
as  I  had  made  the  journey  to  Moukden,  it  still 
held  unnumbered  unexplored  memories  on  which 
I  must  needs  dwell.  Back  and  forth  over  that 
strip  of  country  had  raged  almost  every  conflict 
which  had  come  to  Manchuria  in  its  long  history 
— a  history  that  went  back  to  the  wild  Tartar 
tribes  who  had  fought  on  these  plains  six  hun- 
dred years  before  the  Christian  era.  And  even 
now  in  this  twentieth  century  my  imagination 
peopled  these  quiet  evening  plains  with  those 
innumerable  shadowy  conflicts,  albeit  there  were 
to  be  seen  but  a  few  blue-clad  farmers  quietly 
sowing  their  fields.  Then  I  mused  on  why  the 
Japanese  troops  had  become  so  active  in  this  land, 
since  the  beginning  of  the  great  war  in  Europe. 
Long  after  dark  we  saw  the  light  of  Moukden 
still  far  away  on  the  plain — Moukden  three  cen- 
turies old,  built  by  the  first  Manchu  emperor  be- 
fore he  conquered  China.  Was  this  bold,  free 
city  to  finally  become  a  captive  ?  I  mused  again. 
It  was  usually  full  of  the  Japanese  troops.  Just 
why?  I  w^ondered. 

In  the  very  early  morning  some  two  hours 


112     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

before  we  reached  Antung,  we  had  left  ancient 
Manchuria  behind  and  were  in  new  Manchuria. 
From  here  the  country  extending  to  the  Yalu 
had,  for  a  century  or  more  after  the  building  of 
Moukden,  been  a  no-man's  land,  and  kept  so  by  a 
treaty  between  the  Koreans  and  the  Manchus  in 
which  they  agreed  that  this  part  of  Manchuria 
should  remain  as  a  buffer  state  between  them — 
uninhabited  by  either.  Antung  itself  was  as 
young  as  a  new  Western  town  in  America,  a 
frontier  town,  indeed,  brought  into  prominence 
by  the  Russian  occupation  and  the  Russo- 
Japanese  war,  for  here  was  fought  the  first 
battle  of  that  war.  Now  the  Russians  have  dis- 
appeared, forced  out  by  the  Japanese.  Thus 
do  these  outside  nations  quarrel  over  the  bone  of 
China's  frontier. 

But  what  a  lady  bountiful  was  Antung  that 
spring  morning!  It  lies  some  distance  farther 
south  than  our  little  treaty  port,  and  is  shut  in 
by  the  hills.  Spring  had  really  come  here:  the 
green  buds  were  showing  and  on  the  slopes 
there  was  the  faintest  flush  of  green.  Down 
on  the  Yalu,  Antung  was  dispensing  the  boun- 


The  Manchurian  Spring  113 

ties  of  all  that  lovely  hill  country:  at  the 
landing  lay  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  junks 
loading  and  unloading  cargo;  sea-going  craft 
a  hundred  or  two  hundred  years  old — Viking- 
like ships  with  huge  eyes  painted  on  their 
high-pointed  bows  to  guide  them  on  the  sea — 
were  starting  for  Chefoo  and  other  ports  of 
China,  loaded  with  bean  cakes.  There  were  bean 
junks — ^hundreds  of  them — just  coming  down 
from  the  upper  reaches  of  the  river.  They  were 
so  loaded  with  the  frontiersmen's  crops  that  the 
water  ran  over  their  curving  decks.  And  out 
on  the  river,  forever  drifting  downstream,  were 
the  rafts  of  new-cut  timber  that  came  from  the 
far-off  timber  belt.  Each  day  now  saw  the  river 
activity  increase :  more  and  more  bean-boats  came 
sailing  into  port;  more  and  more  rafts  drifted 
into  their  haven  in  the  lumber  yards  below ;  more 
and  more  junks  lay  anchored  at  the  landings, 
until  it  seemed  as  if  there  was  not  room  for 
another  one;  and  over  them  swarmed  the  Chinese 
loading  and  unloading  cargo.  High  in  the  air 
at  the  tiptop  of  the  hundreds  of  exceedingly  high 
masts  fluttered  hosts  of  the  tiny  red  flags  of 


114    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

luck.  And  the  air  was  full  of  the  sound  of 
chanting  voices,  as  the  men  on  outgoing  junks 
hoisted  the  big  brown  sails.  And  were  we  not 
a  part  of  all  this  gay  spring  activity?  Were  we 
not  bargaining  for  a  junk  to  take  us  up  the  river? 

By  noon  of  the  second  day  our  middle-man 
was  ready  for  us  to  make  our  inspection.  With 
the  freedom  of  trousers,  we  climbed  from  bob- 
bing sampan  to  bobbing  junk.  The  boat  people's 
middle-man,  with  a  spray  of  pink  azaleas  over  his 
shoulder,  came  towards  us  over  a  sea  of  other 
boats  and  led  us  to  our  own,  which  looked  little 
larger  than  a  pint  cup  among  the  huge  craft  that 
lay  all  around  it.  In  reality,  it  was  but  an 
enlarged  rowboat,  fitted  with  mast  and  sail. 

In  this  we  were  destined  to  live  during  our 
journey.  The  center  was  a  raised  box — as  in 
the  bean  boats — and  was  divided  into  four  parts. 
'The  most  central  one,  which  was  to  be  our  home 
for  all  this  voyaging  adventure,  was  just  long 
enough  to  lie  down  in,  just  wide  enough — lying 
side  by  side — to  allow  for  the  bare  necessities  of 
civilization  to  be  stored  around  the  edges.  The 
second  section,  a  little  smaller,  is  to  be  inhabited 


The  Manchurian  Spring  115 

by  that  supercilious  encumbrance,  our  middle- 
man. Behind  that,  there  is  a  still  smaller  space 
for  the  crew;  and  ahead  of  us  is  the  smallest 
section  of  all,  but  it  is  to  hold  our  most  cherished 
possession — the  boy.  Around  these  living  quar- 
ters— but  a  foot  lower — runs  a  deck  some  two 
feet  wide.  To  enter  our  quarters  we  pull  off  a 
board  and  jump  in  and  thus  we  named  it  the 
'  cave.*  We  came  back  in  fine  feather,  for  we 
were  now  ready  for  an  early  start  in  the  morning 
— if  the  wind  were  favorable. 

But  by  the  next  morning  Antung  had  become 
something  besides  the  dispenser  of  bounties  and 
we  saw  the  dual  part  she  was  forced  to  play 
in  her  country's  history.  Above  the  busy  hum 
of  the  river  life,  above  the  chanting  of  songs 
and  the  whirr  of  the  hoisting  of  sails,  came  the 
unmistakably  ominous  threat  of  war.  Was 
China  on  her  frontier  always  to  know  more  of 
despair  than  hope?  How  many  wars  were  to 
be  fought  over  this  land?  For  again  the  fear  of 
war  had  descended  upon  the  inhabitants.  Japan 
had  made  her  famous  *  twenty-one  demands '  on 
China,   the   granting   of   which   would   be   the 


Il6    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

camel's  body  within  the  tent  for  China  not  alone 
on  her  frontiers  but  also  for  some  of  the  eighteen 
provinces.  Naturally  China  had  objected  to  the 
granting  of  such  demands;  and  Japan,  on  this 
spring  morning,  had  threatened  her  with  war. 
Was  Belgium's  sad  history  to  be  repeated?  We 
wondered.  When  we  started  out  that  morning 
we  were  shadowed  by  the  Japanese,  who  seemed 
to  spring  up  in  every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  city. 
They  skulked  everywhere,  spying  every  one's 
movements.  Panic  possessed  the  town;  exchange 
in  the  money  market  was  knocked  to  pieces. 

It  looked  as  if  our  spring  vagrancy  would  end 
right  here;  for,  if  war  were  declared,  no  matter 
how  little  of  fighting  would  come  to  the  inac- 
cessible' lands  up  the  river,  the  powers-that-be 
would  consider  that  the  foreigner  had  better  be 
in  the  treaty  ports.  As  we  could  not  help,  we 
did  not  wish  to  stay  and  see  China's  millions 
lose  their  *  big  chance.'  So  the  thing  for  us  to 
do  was  to  get  under  way  as  soon  as  possible.  We 
hurried  over  our  last  packing,  hastily  buying 
from  the  first  corner-shop  much  needed  potatoes 
and  the  sugar  which  we  had  forgotten  to  buy  on 


The  Manchurian  Spring  117 

the  previous  day.  Jamming  the  last  necessary 
articles  in  the  boxes  and  baskets,  we  hurried  the 
small  apprentices  off  with  them  to  the  junk.  We 
ourselves  took  a  short  cut  to  the  river  in  order 
to  be  there  in  advance,  but  alas,  when  those  ap- 
prentices arrived  they  had  on  the  ends  of  their 
carrying  poles  little  more  than  a  kettle.  Thus 
did  they  artfully  plan  to  increase  the  number  of 
their  journeyings  through  the  spring  streets  full 
of  a  delightful  jumble.  And  to  think  that  at  any 
moment  war  might  descend  upon  us!  In  every 
person  who  came  towards  our  junk  we  foresaw 
a  messenger,  calling  us  back.  Still  we  had  to 
wait  as  back  and  forth  went  the  small  appren- 
tices bringing  their  paltry  loads  of  our  posses- 
sions. As  in  all  other  things  we  could  not  hurry 
the  East.  But  at  last  the  apprentices  had  made 
their  final  round  trip. 

"  Push  off  and  make  haste  about  it,"  we  called 
to  our  boatmen,  asleep  in  the  stern,  as  we  eyed 
the  shore  for  an  untimely  messenger.  Thumping 
and  jostling  innumerable  other  junks,  we  made  a 
start.  We  got  ourselves  free  at  one  end  only  to 
get  into  a  jam  at  the  other.    Thump,  went  our 


Ii8     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

bamboo  poles  against  the  other  junks.  We  were 
strung  to  nervous  tension  by  the  confusion,  the 
thumping  boats,  and  our  need  for  haste,  but  sud- 
denly without  warning  we  slid  into  quiet  water 
in  the  middle  of  the  river.  A  blanket  of  soft 
oblivion  settled  over  all  the  turmoils  of  war.  We 
had  entered  again  into  the  wanderer's  domains 
where  old  sorrows,  old  difficulties,  fall  away. 

With  our  heads  buzzing  with  imaginative 
thoughts,  we  fell  to  the  work  of  settling  our 
little  house  afloat.  Around  the  sides  of  our 
quarters  we  stored  our  small  chest  of  clothes, 
candles,  soap,  and  a  few  other  bare  necessities. 
On  the  boards  on  top  of  the  cave  and  lashed  to 
the  mast  for  safety,  was  our  precious  food  box — 
battered  and  stained  with  its  many  travels.  On 
the  deck  at  the  prow,  the  boy  made  ready  our 
charcoal  stove,  a  cooking-pot,  and  a  frying-pan. 
There  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  wedge  the 
spray  of  azaleas,  which  the  middle-man  had  given 
me,  between  the  mast  and  the  food  box;  our 
house  was  furnished. 

By  and  by  we  came  to  the  place  where  the 
Japanese  had  built  their  pontoon  bridge  in  the 


The  Manchurian  Spring  119 

Japanese  war.  And  for  a  moment  the  blanket 
of  oblivion  lifted  and  our  minds  went  back  again 
to  the  ever-perplexing  problem  of  this  frontier. 
How  strange  it  was  that  two  nations  had  strug- 
gled for  rights  on  this  frontier,  a  frontier  that 
did  not  belong  to  either  of  them.  And  we 
wondered  if  Japan  was  again  making  plans  to 
cross  this  river  and  demand  still  further  rights 
in  Manchuria,  or  even  possession  of  it.  Then 
these  perplexing  problems  were  blotted  out  by 
the  tranquillity  of  river  and  hills.  We  lay  on 
the  boards  over  the  hold  and  basked  in  the 
sunshine. 

"  Fm  a  boy  with  an  eternal  youth,"  I  called 
out. 

"What  about  the  Martha  side  of  you  which 
hunts  out  dust  ?  "  taunted  my  husband. 

"  It  does  not  matter  that  sometimes  I  have  to 
lay  the  boy  away  in  the  chest  with  his  clothes. 
He  always  lives  to  be  donned  with  the  coat  and 
trousers,"  I  cried  triumphantly. 

Then  I  caught  sight  of  our  big  brown  sail 
which  floated  to  the  wind  like  a  great  brown 
wing.     "  1*11  ride  that  wing  until  I  reach  those 


I20    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

very  white  clouds  and  then  I'll  ride  them,"  I 
cried  ecstatically 

"  That's  nothing,"  cried  my  husband,  rolling 
over  on  his  back.    "  I'll  ride  it  to  the  sun." 

In  the  stern,  v^ith  nothing  to  do  but  tend  the 
rude  steering  gear,  squatted  the  head  boatman, 
a  kindly,  simple  man  with  leathery  skin  and  eyes 
that  were  half -shut  from  continual  gazing  at 
the  sun  and  water.  In  the  prow  squatted  the 
boy,  singing  in  a  high  falsetto  voice.  All  around 
us  were  other  junks  with  brown  sails  like  ours, 
only  some  were  more  beautiful  with  their  red 
patches  or  brilliant  orange  bands.  Off  on  the 
shore  were  the  peaceful  scenes  of  farm  country. 
Now  we  could  see  the  great  things  that  the 
Chinese  frontiersman  had  wrought — the  things 
that  in  the  winter  were  hidden.  High  on  the  hill- 
sides the  farmers  worked,  tilling  their  almost  per- 
pendicular fields  into  gardens  of  the  Lord. 
Oxen  and  men  and  primitive  plows  stood  at  what 
seemed  a  right  angle  to  the  river. 

On  one  hillside  were  two  coffins  wrapped 
about  with  fresh  matting.  Quietly  slept  the 
patriarchs    close    by    their    fields    and    thatch- 


The  Manchurian  Spring  121 

roofed  cottage,  and  their  children  and  children's 
children  worked  and  played  around  them.  Peace 
lay  everywhere.  The  river  itself  looked  just  then 
as  if  it  flowed  from  the  very  fountains  of  peace. 

And  that  first  day  ended  when  the  sun  sank 
below  the  hills.  Then  we  lay  down  in  the  hold 
of  our  junk  and  looked  at  the  sky  an  infinite 
distance  above  us  and  the  tall  mast  stretching  up, 
up.  Had  we  not  reached  the  very  heart  of  a 
wanderer's  dream?  In  a  simple  land  at  the  re- 
creating moment  of  its  spring  rebirth  we  lay 
cradled  on  a  few  rude  boards  in  cool,  snow-fed 
waters.  And  we  slept  like  babes  with  the  water 
lapping  softly  around  us. 

And  three  days  passed;  still  that  peace  of  farm- 
land in  springtime.  We  reached  the  first  town. 
Flowers  grew  out  of  the  thatched  roofs,  and 
every  shop  had  its  meadow-lark,  housed  in  a 
quaint  wooden  cage,  swinging  from  the  over- 
hanging eaves.  The  narrow  streets  were  thus 
transformed  into  singing  aisles,  topped  with 
flowers.  Inside  the  shops  branches  of  pink, 
blooming  peach  stood  in  blue  jars  on  the  age- 
blackened  counters,  and  outside,  gay  cloth  signs 


122    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

fluttered,  the  flowers  blossomed,  and  the  hosts 
of  larks,  with  swelling  throats,  sang  to  the 
heavens. 

The  grain-towers  were  being  emptied  and 
their  spiral  matting  was  being  unwound  a  little 
more  each  day;  some  of  the  towers  had  already 
disappeared — like  the  snow  they  were  melting 
away  with  the  spring.  Everywhere  there  was 
the  sound  of  the  falling  beans,  as  the  workmen 
emptied  them  from  the  towers  into  measuring 
boxes  and  then  into  big  sacks  to  be  carried  down 
to  the  river;  everywhere  the  frontiersmen  were 
singing  in  rhythmic  exultant  song  the  growing 
measure  of  their  beans.  Who  could  be  stuffy 
and  matter-of-fact  when  the  world  was  like 
this? 

We  drifted  away  again  into  the  quiet  of  river 
and  hills.  When  the  wind  blew,  we  sailed;  when 
it  stopped,  our  boatmen  towed  us.  At  such  times 
off  on  the  shore  they  moved  as  in  a  pantomime, 
not  a  sound  reaching  us.  In  such  fashion  we 
reached  the  second  town  .  .  .  and  in  such 
fashion  we  left  it,  scarcely  hearing  the  shopmen 
say  as  we  put  off,  "  It  is  an  early  spring;  the 


If  hen  the  luind  blew,  we  sailed. 


When  it  stopped,  our  boatmen  towed  us. 


[page  122] 


The  Manchurian  Spring  123 

snow  in  the  mountains  is  melting  very  fast."  We 
had  forgotten  the  uncertainty  of  the  river,  for- 
gotten the  rapids,  forgotten  the  melting  snows, 
forgotten  everything  except  the  shining  river 
and  the  hills  which  came  straight  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  clad  in  young,  green  kaoliang  and 
azaleas. 

It  was  the  next  day  or  perhaps  the  next. 
"  Hi-ee-ee !  '*  a  sound  like  the  warning  cry  of 
wild  animals  ripped  our  tranquillity  in  two. 
"Hi-ee-ee!"  Right  ahead  of  us  the  water 
whirled  and  boiled.  In  a  minute  we  should  be 
in  the  midst  of  it.  "  Hi-ee-ee!  Hi-ee-ee!  "  came 
from  fifty  throats  on  our  junk  and  other  junks. 
*'  Hi-ee-ee !  Hi-ee-ee !  "  came  the  savage  echoes 
reverberating  from  the  hills. 

"  Get  down  into  the  hold,"  cried  my  husband. 
We  were  none  too  quick.  The  rapids  had  caught 
us.  The  towing  men  were  down  on  their  hands 
and  knees  pulling  with  all  their  might  and  the 
towing  rope,  fastened  to  the  tip  of  our  mast, 
pulled  us  over  farther  and  farther.  We  grasped 
the  side  of  the  boat. 

**  Look  out  for  your  head,"  called  my  husband 


124    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

again.  Coming  towards  us  down  the  narrow 
deck,  were  our  once  quiet  boatmen — savages 
now.  Naked,  they  leaped  in  the  air  with  great 
iron-tipped  poles  held  high  above  their  heads. 
"Hi-ee-ee!''  rang  their  savage  cries;  they  flung 
their  naked  breasts  against  the  poles.  Crunch! 
went  those  poles  against  the  river's  bottom  as 
the  men  crouched  low  over  them.  Their  bare 
feet  went  pat,  pat,  as  they  marched  down  the 
narrow  deck.  The  boat  moved  an  inch  .  .  . 
another  inch  up  the  rapid.  "  Hi-ee-ee ! "  again 
rang  the  cry  and  again  the  naked  figures  leaped 
for  the  prow.  Toiling,  sweating,  they  touched  us 
as  they  leaped  past  us  on  the  deck. 

It  began  to  rain  and  night  came  on.  Fiercer 
and  fiercer  grew  the  cries;  it  was  the  frenzy  of 
the  savage,  growing  as  night  came  on,  and  ruth- 
less struggle  to  survive  was  upon  him.  Junk 
struggled  with  junk,  each  careless  of  all  save  his 
own  safety,  and  on  the  shore  the  towing  ropes 
tangled  as  one  set  of  tow-men  struggled  to  get 
ahead  of  another.  In  the  coming  darkness,  our 
brains  grew  dizzy  with  the  savage  nearness  of 
the  sweating,  naked  bodies.     We  strained  our 


The  Manchurian  Spring  '125 

eyes  to  see.  One  junk  had  made  the  quiet  water 
beyond!  But  even  as  we  looked  there  came  a 
new  and  ominous  cry  from  behind.  We  looked 
and  saw  a  junk,  whirling  madly;  then  it  shot 
downstream  and  in  the  half-light  we  lost  sight 
of  it.  Could  we  make  the  waters  beyond  or 
would  we,  too,  slip  down?  That  was  what  we 
thought  about. 

When  it  seemed  as  if  hours  had  passed,  and 
our  hands  were  numb  from  holding  on,  and  we 
were  wet  to  the  skin  with  the  now  heavy  rain, 
our  junk — the  very  last — slid  out  of  the  rapid. 
But  even  here  the  current,  whipped  by  the  wind 
and  fed  by  the  melting  snows,  was  so  swift  that 
it  was  useless  to  try  to  make  the  shore.  So 
we  tied  our  junk  to  a  larger  one  that  had  cast 
anchor  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  and  we 
crawled  down  into  the  hold  out  of  the  rain.  Our 
candle  flickered  and  went  out;  all  we  could  see 
in  the  pitch  black  of  the  night  were  the  junk-men, 
sleeping  the  sleep  of  exhaustion  just  where 
they  had  thrown  themselves  around  their  rude 
stove,  in  the  hold  at  the  stern.  As  the  light 
from  the  fire  fell  for  a  moment  on  their  bodies 


126     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

we  thought  o£  cave-men  from  the  stone  age. 
After  that,  each  day  the  waters  were  swifter, 
the  rapids  more  frequent,  the  towing  more  diffi- 
cult, for  the  rocky  hills  were  now  often  almost 
perpendicular  to  the  river's  edge  and  the  towing 
men  had  to  hold  on  like  cats.  We  made  about 
ten  miles  a  day.  And  when  it  rained  we  had  to 
tie  up  to  the  shore  or  anchor  in  the  stream,  for 
the  perpendicular  rocks  became  too  slippery  for 
the  towing  men.  And  still  we  toiled  to  reach  the 
point  of  land  where  the  river  branched;  and  over 
and  over  we  enacted  that  wild  scene  of  the  first 
big  rapid.  We  would  be  watching  the  shining 
hills,  when  that  savage  cry  would  ring  out  and 
all  hands  were  at  work  to  move  the  boats.  In 
one  rapid  our  boat  almost  capsized  and  we  lost 
our  cooking  stove;  in  another  the  ropes  around 
our  food  boxes  broke  and  we  lost  most  of  our 
provisions,  but  still  we  kept  on.  We  were 
alternately  wet  with  the  spring  rains  and  warmed 
by  the  spring  sun;  we  slept  on  hard  boards;  we 
ate  what  we  could  get — and  the  glory  of  life 
grew  within  us — our  spirits  intensifying  as  our 
struggles  intensified. 


The  towing  men  had  to  hold  on  like  cats. 

[page  126] 


The  Manchurian  Spring  127 

We  have  reached  the  point  of  land !  Now  for 
the  lumbering  camp  up  the  right  arm  of  the 
river.  We  have  collected  what  provisions  we 
could,  to  make  up  for  the  lost  ones.  Unfor- 
tunately baking  powder,  one  of  the  articles  in 
the  box  that  went  overboard,  is  an  unknown 
thing,  but  we  have  collected  a  quantity  of  Chinese 
steamed-bread  which  was  raised  by  means  of  sour 
dough.  To  the  sourness  we  can  testify,  for  there 
is  no  slight  evidence  of  it  in  the  bread,  but  by 
toasting  it  we  think  we  can  probably  make 
it  do.  Nothing  seems  difficult  to  endure  if  we 
can  only  keep  on  with  our  fascinating  adven- 
ture. 

We  started  once  more.  We  were  now  past 
the  settled,  familiar  lands  of  the  lower  river. 
There  was  no  longer  the  placid  spring  beauty 
of  the  farm  country.  Everywhere  there  was  a 
new,  wild  beauty;  spring  here  untamed  by  man 
was  an  uncivilized  and  vivid  creature,  a  creature 
beyond  the  realms  of  convention,  a  creature  aban- 
doned to  the  one  passionate  desire  of  creating. 
Life  everywhere  burst  the  bonds  of  the  winter 
asceticism    and    rioted    in    new    existence — and 


128    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

hourly  the  river  gained  new  vitality  and  ran 
swifter  and  swifter. 

Our  spirits,  already  whipped  into  greater  vigor 
by  the  previous  hours  of  savage  struggle  with 
the  rapids,  leaped  now  with  ecstasy.  We  could 
not  get  enough  of  the  primal  activity  that  was 
everywhere — on  the  hills,  in  the  rapids,  in  the 
struggling  men.  "  More,  we  want  more,"  we 
cried.  We  pushed  aside  all  memory  of  the 
muffled  living  of  civilization.  Greedily,  like  men 
parched  with  thirst,  we  drank  in  this  elemental 
life.  Let  the  rapids  grow  stronger — we  wanted 
them  to.  The  rougher  the  touch  of  nature,  the 
greater  our  realization! 

When  we  were  out  of  a  rapid  our  sober  judg- 
ments said  to  each  other,  "  There  is  no  use  in 
our  thinking  of  going  on;  even  if  we  can  do  it 
it's  foolish.  At  the  rate  we  are  moving  the 
summer  floods  will  be  upon  us  before  we  can  get 
back." 

"  Hi-ee-ee !  "  another  rapid.  And  our  reason- 
able decision  deserted  us.  Our  breath  would 
come  faster  and  faster  as  we  abandoned  our- 
selves to  the  pat  of  the  bare  feet,  the  crunching 


The  Manchurian  Spring  129 

of  the  poles,  the  creaking  sail,  the  wild  cries 
echoing  in  the  wild  hills.  We  were  out  of  the 
rapid.  We  were  in  another.  We  were  out  of 
that.  And  in  another.  Keep  on,  keep  on,  more, 
more;  we  could  not  make  up  our  minds  to  leave 
this  glorious  hand-to-hand  struggle  with  nature. 

The  days  passed.  We  had  made  but  a  paltry 
fifty  miles.  Still  we  refused  to  give  up.  Then 
a  greater  rapid  took  us.  Straining,  pushing,  the 
men  worked;  we  scarcely  held  our  own.  The 
men's  mouths  snarled,  the  poles  pressed  deep 
into  the  flesh  of  their  breasts.  Snap!  it  was 
a  new  sound;  a  pole  had  broken.  The  river 
picked  us  up  like  a  toy  and  hurled  us  back  down 
stream.  We  tried  it  again.  A  man  slipped  on 
the  wet  deck  and  we  were  again  hurled  back. 
Over  and  over  we  tried;  over  and  over  we  were 
beaten.    The  river  had  won. 

We  should  have  to  give  up — the  first  trail  we 
had  ever  given  up.  We  must  go  back.  But  it 
had  been  a  great  struggle.  We  sighed  just  a 
little  thinking  of  the  thrill  of  the  last  rapid, 
thinking  of  how  we  must  leave  the  spring  of 
>vild  and  free  places,  the  nights  when  we  bathed 


130    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

in  the  star-lit  river  and  slept  under  the  stars  with 
no  roof  to  shut  us  in;  the  days  when  we  were 
alternately  wet  with  the  spring  rain  and  warmed 
with  the  spring  sun.  We  looked  a  long  farewell 
and  then  turned  our  backs  upon  it  all. 

One  day  and  the  unsettled  regions  were  gone, 
another  and  we  had  shot  past  nearly  all  of  the 
settled  farm  country,  a  third  and  Antung  lay 
before  us.  And  what  of  the  struggle  of  the 
Japanese  for  political  power  and  acquisition  ?  As 
we  had  been  having  our  free  and  revivifying 
struggle  with  nature,  what  of  this  other  sordid 
struggle  for  worldly  power?  We  hurried  away 
to  our  consul  for  news.  War  had  been  averted 
but  many  of  the  rights  of  this  bold  and  free 
frontier  had  had  to  be  signed  away.  In  the 
archives  of  Japan  there  lay  papers  surrendering 
to  them  the  major  portion  of  those  twenty  one 
demands.  Frontier  farmers,  while  you  worked 
high  on  your  hillsides,  boatmen,  while  you  made 
your  struggle  with  the  river,  the  opportunities  of 
this,  your  frontier,  were  being  signed  away  to 
satisfy  the  avarice  of  another  nation! 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  NEW  KNOWLEDGE  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

I  remember  lighting  fires ;  I  remember  sitting  by  them ; 
I  remember  seeing  faces,  hearing  voices  through  the 

smoke ; 
I  remember  they  were  fancy — for  I  threw  a  stone  to 

try  'em. 

I  remember  going  crazy.    I  remember  that  I  knew  it 
When  I  heard  myself  hallooing  to  the  funny  folk  I  saw. 
— The  Explorer — Rudyard  Kipling. 

Until  to-day,  I  have  smiled  with  all  the 
superiority  of  joy  on  the  frontiersmen  who  have 
insisted  upon  telling  me  that  all  journeyings  were 
not  like  ours.  As  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes,  I  saw  strange  things  that  baffled  me  in  those 
looks.  "  You  must  remember  that  there  are  such 
things  as  hoodoo  trips/'  they  would  say. 

"  I  stamp  my  foot  at  your  hoodoos,"  I  have 
answered.     And  to  myself  I  have  whispered: 
"  They  know  not  the  spirit.    The  two  of  us  are 
vagabonds;  we  are  charmed." 
131 


132     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

Until  to-day,  I  have  never  deemed  it  necessary 
to  heed  their  words.  Until  to-day,  I  have  been  a 
blithe  thing,  holding  out  my  arms  to  the  billowy 
clouds,  to  the  unquenchable  sunshine  of  Man- 
churia ;  I  have  stood  on  the  top  of  windy,  winter 
passes,  exulting  in  the  wild,  free  life  of  these  out- 
post trails,  glorying  in  the  sting  of  the  air,  the 
hardship,  and  the  danger. 

Even  in  these  last  months  which  have  been  full 
of  baffled  waiting  within  my  house — not  at  all 
like  our  former  life  of  companionship  on  the  trail 
— I  have  heard  but  one  message  from  the  fron- 
tier, lying  just  outside  my  door, — the  unmixed 
message  of  its  recreating  power.  But  to-day  I 
am  tortured  with  apprehension.  Can  it  be  that 
for  us  there  is  another  knowledge  of  the  frontier  ? 
But  surely  if  such  knowledge  were  for  us,  my 
husband,  who  is  a  seasoned  pioneer,  would  have 
discovered  it  long  before  this.  I  am  sure  the 
wilderness  holds  no  lonely  terrors  for  him.  And 
lately  has  he  not  proved  it  anew  ? 

It  is  early  September  now;  and  from  the  first 
of  April  the  vagabond  gods  have  deprived  him 
of  all  companionship  on  the  trail,  for  during  these 


A  New  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier     133 

months  the  bandits  have  fairly  rioted  over  the 
land;  despite  our  general  indifference  to  bandits 
and  such  bold  folk,  the  powers-that-be  declared 
that  these  were  moments  for  caution;  nothing 
would  induce  them  to  let  a  woman  run  straight 
out  to  meet  such  evil  bands  as  were  reported  to 
infest  even  the  towns.  So  in  April  my  husband 
went  out  without  me.  When  he  came  back  the 
first  of  May  it  was  as  I  had  expected, — that  soli- 
tary month  had  made  him  only  the  more  keen- 
eyed  and  virile.  I  felt  that  the  men  who  con- 
doned with  him  for  the  loneliness  of  the  trip, 
evidently  knew  nothing  of  the  joys  of  such  travel. 
He  was  home  but  three  days  when  he  was  ready 
to  start  again.  And  surely  I  am  right  in  what 
the  wilderness  always  means  to  him,  for  when 
he  returned  after  two  months  more  of  such  travel 
and  we  started  in  a  launch  up  the  Liao  River, 
he  was  all  the  gay  boy.  How  he  talked  those  first 
days  as  we  moved  up  the  river !  Again  I  said  to 
myself,  "  The  loneliness  that  other  men  fear  never 
harms  him.  These  past  three  months  which  he 
has  spent  with  the  days  entirely  bare  of  the 
companionship  of  any  white  men,  are  the  final 


134  Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  OIl^ 
test.  Out  of  the  silences  he  has  drawn  new  life; 
out  of  the  solitude  his  spirit  has  come  forth  yet 
more  free  and  buoyant." 

That  was  six  weeks  ago,  and  when  after  some 
three  days  the  launch  broke  and  he  decided  that 
he  could  not  wait  to  have  it  mended  but  to  do 
the  journey  alone  on  horseback,  I  was  doubly  sure 
that  the  frontier  had  never  brought  him  a  sinister 
meaning.  If  it  had,  he  certainly  would  have 
rebelled  at  going  out  to  it  again  and  alone.  But 
to-day  I  am  tortured  with  doubt.  Suppose  the 
eagerness  he  displayed  on  the  launch  were  the 
eagerness  of  starvation,  not  of  young  life.  Sup- 
pose, unknown  to  him,  in  the  three  months  he 
had  been  traveling  alone,  there  had  accumulated 
within  him  fragments  of  loneliness.  What  then 
might  this  further  solitary  journey  mean  to  him? 

I  am  no  longer  a  blithe  spirit;  something 
vaguely  menacing  surrounds  me.  I  roam 
through  the  house,  and,  within  me,  something 
moans  as  the  rain  and  wind  moan  outside.  The 
frontier  no  longer  beckons  with  gay,  enticing 
fingers.  This  port  appears  a  tiny  and  helpless 
thing,  facing  the  three  hundred  thousand  square 


A  New  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier     135 

miles  of  untamed  Manchuria.  I  crouch  away 
from  this  wild,  partially  settled  country,  for  it 
has  suddenly  become  for  me  a  lean  and  hungry 
wolf  slinking  into  the  town — devouring  it.  And 
my  husband?  The  wolf  may  harm  him.  The 
night  is  rain-chilled.  I  will  sit  by  the  fire  with 
the  curtains  all  drawn  to  shut  out  the  sobbing 
rain— and  that  stealthy  approach  of  the  savage 
land. 

Sitting  thus,  fascinated  by  that  silent,  ruthless, 
advancing  force,  I  did  not  hear  the  door  open. 
When  something  impelled  me  to  look  up,  there 
stood  my  husband,  gaunt  and  worn,  as  if  he 
had  come  from  some  forty-days'  vigil  in  the 
wilderness.  There  was  that  in  his  appearance 
that  made  me  cry  out,  "  What  is  it  ? ''  It  was 
not  because  he  was  toil-worn  or  even  emaciated. 
(A  journey  into  the  unfrequented  places  of  the 
earth  always  strips  a  man  of  all  the  sleek,  well- 
fed  aspect  of  the  town.)  But  in  his  eyes  was 
that  strange  look  that  I  had  seen  in  the  eyes  of 
those  other  frontiersmen  when  they  had  warned 
me  against  the  frontier.    Fragment  by  fragment 


136    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

my  husband  has  told  me  his  tale  and  for  me  that 
look  is  no  longer  veiled, — it  is  the  look  of  one 
who  has  struggled  with  some  terrible  demon. 
Now  while  my  husband  is  asleep,  spent  with  his 
terrible  contest,  I  go  over  and  over,  in  the  silence 
of  the  night,  what  he  has  told  me,  piecing  to- 
gether that  fragmentary  tale,  determined  it  shall 
yield  me  its  significance. 

My  vague  apprehensions  have  become  realities. 
Six  weeks  ago  on  that  fatal  day  when  our  launch 
broke  down,  my  husband  suddenly  realized  that 
he  was  starved  for  human  companionship.  When 
he  decided  that  he  must  make  the  trip  on  horse- 
back, a  strange  sensation  took  possession  of  him. 
Again  he  must  start  on  a  journey;  again  he  must 
go  alone.  Why  did  something  always  happen  to 
rob  him  of  companionship?  He  began  to  feel 
that  there  was  some  relentless  hand  continually 
pulling  him  back,  back  into  solitude,  into  the 
alien  world  that  had  already  held  him  so  long. 
As  he  thought  of  the  past,  he  saw  it  made  up 
solely  of  soHtude  and  yellow  men;  he  thought 
ahead — there  stretched  innumerable  days  of  more 
solitude,  more  yellow  men.    He  began  to  think 


A  New  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier     137 

of  this  new  journey  with  a  lethargy  of  spirit; 
as  a  child  too  often  struck  had  grown  numb. 
He  knew  that  he  was  very  tired  from  weeks  of 
hasty,  arduous  travel — and  he  thought  his  feeling 
was  due  to  that.  But  he  says  it  never  occurred 
to  him  not  to  go.  He  had  never  turned  back 
when  there  was  a  piece  of  work  to  be  done;  he 
did  not  intend  to  do  so  now. 

When  he  reached  Tiehling,  where  he  was  to 
get  his  ponies,  everything  was  against  him.  Be- 
fore this,  his  belief  in  his  hand,  his  indomitable 
will,  had  never  failed  him  in  difficulties,  but  at 
the  very  start  of  this  trip,  the  men  who  sur- 
rounded him  seemed  to  know  with  a  sure  and 
uncanny  instinct  of  primitive  men  that  some- 
thing was  different, — that  that  indomitable  will 
that  had  carried  him  so  far  was  not  so  strong. 
He  was  puzzled  at  his  inability  to  secure  the 
service  he  wanted.  He  paid  high  prices  but  he 
secured  poor  ponies,  poor  service.  The  boy,  his 
stand-by,  on  the  plea  of  the  death  of  his  grand- 
father, left  him.  With  no  knowledge  that  some- 
thing had  snapped  within  himself,  my  husband 
went  doggedly  on  with  his  preparations.    He  did 


138     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

not  think  his  lethargy  of  spirit  mattered,  for  he 
still  believed  himself  bigger  and  stronger  than  all 
the  great  primal  strength  of  the  frontier;  he 
would  bend  it  to  his  desires.  Although  the 
summer  rains  had  started,  although  the  Oriental 
rebelled,  although  his  spirit  was  tired,  he  would 
not  turn  back.    He  never  had.    He  never  would. 

Therefore  late  one  afternoon,  with  the  leaden 
skies  above  him,  with  poor  servants  and  poorer 
animals,  he  rode  forth  from  his  starting  point  to 
go  to  the  very  border  of  Manchuria  and  over  into 
Mongolia;  rode  off  into  the  tall  kaoliang.  I  can 
see  him,  erect  and  determined,  on  his  good-for- 
nothing  pony,  lost  in  a  moment  in  the  forest 
of  kaoliang,  riding  straight  towards  the  all- 
embracing  solitude. 

Hour  after  hour  he  plodded  along  with  the 
wet,  sharp  leaves  of  the  kaoliang  cutting  his  face, 
spraying  him  with  water.  The  lack-luster  day 
ended;  a  duller  twilight  came  on.  As  quietly  but 
as  inevitably  as  the  twilight  and  the  night  de- 
scended, there  settled  over  him  a  strange  and 
horrid  depression.  Struggle  as  I  know  he  must 
have,  he  was  unable  to  throw  it  off.    The  night 


A  New  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier     139 

deepened  around  him;  the  depression  deepened 
within  him  like  some  sticky  black  evil. 

I  can  see  him  on  every  step  of  the  way — once 
we  made  that  part  of  the  journey  together.  It 
must  have  been  very  late  when  he  rode  into  the 
low  hills  that  surrounded  the  town, — ^his  nighf  s 
stopping  place;  of  necessity  he  would  be  feeling 
his  way  in  the  darkness,  his  sole  guide  the  gleam 
of  two  parallel  lines  of  water — the  ruts  of  the 
road.  An  hour  ago  as  he  told  me  his  broken  tale 
he  seemed  not  to  be  here ;  it  was  from  that  far-off 
lonely  road,  picking  his  way  along,  he  entreated 
me :  "  My  God !  I  must  end  that  eternity  of  mud, 
of  living  burial  in  the  kaoliang,  of  thoughts  stale 
as  death.  Surely  I  was  not  to  be  caught  in  the 
grip  of  a  loneliness  I  had  heard  other  men  tell 
about,  a  thing  so  malignant  that  it  poisons  every 
adventure  of  the  road."  With  words  like  these, 
he  begged  me,  here  to-night,  to  save  him  from 
something  as  if  even  now  I  could  change  it  all. 

When  at  last  there  appeared  the  flicker  of  low 
lights  on  the  horizon  he  plunged  recklessly 
through  the  mud,  through  the  blackness,  until  he 
reached  the  lantern,  swinging  as  we  both  so  well 


140    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

know  over  the  door  of  the  agents.  "  I  worked 
like  a  Turk  that  night,"  he  said.  He  scented 
*  squeeze '  and  that  gave  him  his  chance  to  dig 
at  things.  I  imagine  he  worried  the  agent's 
account  as  a  tenacious  dog  worries  a  bone  and 
when  he  started  again  the  next  day,  he  thought 
he  had  succeeded  in  ridding  himself  of  the  de- 
pression of  the  previous  day. 

But  again  there  was  that  impotence  destroying 
his  control  over  men  and  things.  As  the  day 
advanced,  the  loneliness — that  he  thought  in  the 
morning  he  held  in  abeyance — pushed  him  down, 
down.  The  disasters  grew  worse  and  more  fre- 
quent; his  substitute  boy  grew  bad-natured  and 
unwilling;  his  muleteers  reckless  and  unruly. 
The  day  ended  by  a  muleteer  jumping  sidewise 
on  a  pack  mule  as  they  were  passing  a  perfect 
morass  of  mud  and  water.  The  mule,  losing  his 
balance,  fell  in,  breaking  his  leg  in  the  fall.  A 
sullen  group,  cursing  in  two  languages,  they  shot 
the  mule,  and  dividing  his  pack  among  them, 
started  for  the  dirty,  unfrequented  *  Inn  of  the 
Blue  Fish.'  Think  of  it!  While  those  aliens 
slept  around  him,  he  stood  far  into  the  night, 


A  NeW'  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier    141 

stood  shivering  over  a  tiny  brazier,  trying  to  dry 
out  enough  clothes,  to  make  it  safe  to  lie  down 
and  sleep;  the  loneliness,  in  those  moments  of 
the  night,  he  evidently  came  to  conceive  of  as 
a  kind  of  shadowy  shape  keeping  him  ghastly 
company. 

I  do  not  know  the  details  of  what  followed; 
I  do  not  think  he  knows  himself.  He  knows  only 
one  thing — that  for  weeks,  slowly,  painfully, 
doggedly,  he  made  his  way,  traveling  harder  than 
he  had  ever  traveled  before,  trying  to  out-travel 
that  evil  phantom  of  solitude  that  lay  down  to 
sleep  with  him,  that  sat  by  his  side  as  he  ate. 
He  came  to  live  with  one  hope — that  he  could 
lose  his  horrible  guest  at  the  border  when  he 
slipped  over  into  Mongolia.  He  went  over  in 
his  mind  the  tales  he  had  heard  of  this  new 
country,  a  country  of  magic  he  was  sure.  Surely 
the  buoyancy  of  life  would  return  to  him  when 
he  left  behind  the  monotony  of  kaoliang,  blue- 
clad  Orientals,  and  endless  red  mud.  Already  he 
felt  the  first  faint  stirrings  of  joy  which  come 
to  the  inveterate  wanderer  when  he  thinks  of 
new,   untried   countries.      Surely,    then   at   the 


142     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

border,  his  spirit  would  arise  and  slay  this 
phantom. 

But  all  unknown  to  him  he  reached  the  border 
of  Manchuria  and  passed  over  into  Mongolia. 
There  was  no  change  from  the  kaoliang,  the  blue- 
clad  Oriental,  the  endless  red  mud.  There  were 
no  Mongols  in  wine-colored  robes,  no  herders  of 
vast  flocks  of  sheep,  no  shaven  Lamas  watching 
over  Thibetan  temples,  no  bold  horsemen  riding 
ponies  like  mad  and  then  dropping  below  a  level 
horizon.  There,  on  the  border,  he  came  to  know 
Mongolia  simply  by  the  fact  that  the  crops  were 
poorer,  the  land  less  cared  for.  "  There  is  no 
Mongolia !  "  he  cried  out  to  himself.  "  It  has 
turned  Chinese  in  speech,  in  dress,  in  manners, 
in  occupation;  the  Chinese  always  absorb  all 
nations  they  encounter." 

In  his  despair  he  did  not  stop  to  reason  that  on 
the  boundaries  of  nations  there  is  always  an  inter- 
mingling. He  saw  nothing  but  the  absorbing 
power  of  the  Chinese;  and  into  his  mind,  already 
distorted  by  loneliness,  came  a  horrible  fear — ^he 
too  was  speaking  Chinese;  he  too  was  dropping 
into  the  ways  of  the  Chinese!     Were  they  ab- 


A  New  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier     143 

sorbing  him  ?  Could  he  ever  again  be  like  other 
white  men?  Each  day  he  felt  his  identity 
diminishing.  From  then  on,  it  seemed  to  shrivel 
and  shrink  before  his  very  eyes.  Then  two  grim 
specters  instead  of  one  accompanied  him.  With 
insinuating  voices  they  whispered  to  him :  "  You 
can  never  escape  us  " ;  and  one  said,  "  You  are 
forgotten  by  your  kind  " ;  and  the  other,  "  Each 
day  you  are  less  a  white  man." 

But  the  shreds  of  his  will  still  held  against 
those  hideous  guests — as  he  had  come  to  look 
upon  them.  He  still  held  them  in  abeyance.  He 
still  fought  them,  until  one  evening  as  he  and  his 
now  almost  demoralized  train  straggled  into  an 
inn  at  dark,  a  drunken  soldier  reeled  towards 
him,  hit  his  boy  a  resounding  crack  over  the  head, 
and  then  before  my  husband's  numbed  senses 
grasped  the  scoundrel's  meaning,  the  creature  had 
him  covered  with  his  rifle.  He  has  only  a  vague 
feeling  of  one  of  his  '  escort '  coming  up  in  time 
to  knock  the  gun  into  the  air  just  before  it  went 
off.  Always  before,  such  narrow  escapes  have 
made  us  rebound  with  exaltation  of  spirit,  inten- 
sifying the  mere  sense  of  existence  until  our 


144    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

spirits  leaped  with  some  vivid  elemental  joy  that 
made  us  gloat  over  the  sting  that  sharpened  the 
reality  of  our  existence.  But  joy  seems  to  be 
but  for  him  who  hath;  there  was  no  exultation 
for  my  husband.  He  realized  but  one  thing — 
that  he,  the  man  who  had  been  able  to  cope  with 
all  difficulties  of  the  trail,  had  not  been  enough 
master  of  himself  to  get  ready  his  revolver  in 
that  interim  when  the  soldier  had  reeled  towards 
his  boy.  Those  phantom  guests  had  seen  what 
manner  of  man  he  really  was!  They  knew  he 
could  not  conquer  them  any  more  than  he  could 
save  himself  from  the  soldier. 

God- forsaken  days  followed.  On  over  the 
plains  he  made  his  way,  through  drizzle,  through 
rain,  through  mud.  He  no  longer  rejected  those 
horrible  guests;  where  he  went  he  invited  them 
to  go.  He  spent  hours  ingratiating  them,  trying 
to  please  them.  He  let  nothing  interrupt  their 
communings  together  and  he  toyed  with  the 
cowardly  things  they  whispered  in  his  ear. 

How  he  kept  on  with  his  now  demoralized 
train,  I  scarcely  know.  A  sort  of  sixth  sense 
must  have  kept  him  moving  back  towards  the 


A  New  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier     145 

border  of  Manchuria.  He  lost  count  of  what 
day  of  the  month  it  was,  even  what  day  of  the 
week.  None  of  them  knew  just  where  they  were 
in  a  land  unfamiliar  in  its  shroud  of  mists.  At 
last  one  night  when  the  train  of  dejected  mules 
and  muleteers  was  moving  more  slowly  than  ever 
(the  boy  had  deserted  long  before  and  my  hus- 
band knew  none  of  them  would  last  much 
longer),  they  saw  a  long,  level  line  of  low  lights 
above  the  flat  horizon. 

"  There's  Sze  Ling  Kai,"  cried  his  soldier 
guide.  He  did  not  hear.  "  The  fire  cart  comes 
there ! "  shouted  the  soldier  in  his  ear.  Over  the 
racking  anguish  of  his  thoughts  these  words  came 
and  for  a  moment  his  real  self  penetrated  the 
cloudy,  cowering  new  personality  whom  he  had 
come  to  call  himself.  He  jumped  from  his  spent 
pony  crying,  "  I'll  get  there — I  can  lead  him — 
I'll  kill  all  those  damned  insinuating  shapes  that 
deny  I  am  myself."  But  that  resurrection  of  his 
real  self  was  only  for  a  minute;  then  it  faded 
away,  and  he  and  his  two  guests  became  confused 
in  his  mind.  Sometimes  they  were  in  his  way, 
sometimes  they  stumbled  behind  and  he  had  to 


146    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

stop  and  wait  for  them.  After  a  time — he  does 
not  know  how  long — he  got  as  far  as  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  As  he  huddled  on  a  stone, 
those  shadowy  things  leaped  up  before  him  living 
horrors,  cackling,  mocking,  gibbering  at  him. 
"  We've  found  you  out — you're  weak.  You  are 
absorbed  into  the  yellow  race.  You  bear  the 
marks.  You  can  never  go  back  to  your  kind — 
better  end  it  all,"  they  railed. 

Then  it  was,  that  to  himself  his  personality 
snuffed  out  like  a  candle.  He  looked  at  the  long 
line  of  low  lights  but  there  was  no  meaning  in 
them  for  him  now.  There  was  nothing  left  for 
him  but  the  specters.  Again  he  heard  them  at  it, 
"  What's  a  white  man  doing  here?  "  How  they 
mocked !  He  crouched  to  spring;  his  fingers  went 
tense  to  grasp  their  shadowy  throats.  If  he 
ended  it,  they  should  all  end  it  together.  He 
jumped  for  them. 

Instead  of  the  specters  he  stood  face  to  face 
with  a  friend,  a  man  with  whom  in  the  past  he 
had  shared  many  a  hard  trail.  "  I've  roused  you 
at  last,"  his  friend  was  saying  as  he  grasped  him 
by  the  hand.    ''  Guess  you're  about  all  in."    Then, 


A  New  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier     147 

as  he  looked  into  his  eyes,  he  exclaimed,  "  Had  a 
hoodoo  trip,  eh?  How  does  it  come  that  an  old 
hand  like  you  let  yourself  in  for  a  scourging  from 
the  frontier?  Come  along  with  me.  There  are 
three  of  us  in  a  mess  over  here.** 

"  Guess  you'll  have  to  excuse  me,"  began  my 
husband.  "  Been  off  in  the  country  a  long  time; 
I'm  not  fit  for  civilized  company." 

"  Billy-be-damned !  You  need  to  come  whether 
you  are  fit  for  it  or  not,"  urged  his  friend. 
*'  Rifle  the  supply  closet,  comrades,"  he  called, 
as  a  few  moments  later  the  two  of  them,  arm 
in  arm,  stepped  over  the  threshold  of  the  little 
house  into  warmth  and  light. 

My  husband  sank  into  a  chair  and  passed  his 
hand  over  his  eyes.  How  wonderful  were  the 
voices,  how  splendid  the  light!  Oh,  surely  this 
was  not  to  be  another  tantalizing  mirage  of  the 
night.  He  could  grasp  this  light,  these  men. 
It  must  be  true,  for  had  not  the  gibbering  horrors 
with  their  foul  suggestions  left  him?  Yes,  the 
good,  common  things  of  life  had  come  back  to 
him.  All  was  as  it  always  was  in  the  world  of 
men — they  stood  with  their  glasses  in  their  hands. 


148  Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 
"  Here's  to  you,"  they  were  saying.  Oh,  the 
warm  goodness  of  their  companionship!  My 
husband  jumped  to  his  feet  to  touch  his  glass  to 
theirs,  but  the  light — the  humanness — where  were 
they?    He  clutched  for  them.     They  had  gone. 

Dim  and  far  away  the  voice  of  his  friend 
reached  him,  "  He  has  fainted.  Wonder  what's 
the  matter?  It's  something  more  than  tiredness. 
He  is  not  one  to  fail  under  the  test  of  the  land. 
I  have  made  a  lot  of  trips  with  him.  He  is 
not  one  of  those  persons  who  wreck  themselves 
with  revenging  hate  for  the  frontier  because  she 
has  shown  them  that  they  are  tawdry;  he  is  not 
one  of  the  weak  who  mistakes  her  silence  and 
liberty  for  license." 

Then  light  at  last  broke  on  what  had  been  to 
my  husband  the  blackness  of  defeat.  Men  still 
believed  in  him.  There  was  but  one  thing  wrong, 
he  knew  it  now, — no  man  can  live  long  without 
his  own  kind.  "  I  had  done  it,"  he  said,  "  and 
had  thus  made  the  joyous  things  of  solitude  and 
silence  into  a  forbidding  and  lonely  abode  for  my 
soul."  The  frontier  gives  a  man  no  quarter; 
she  either  makes  or  mars  him  according  to  the 


A  New  Knowledge  of  the  Frontier     149 

strength  or  weakness  of  his  soul — and  the 
strength  of  every  man's  soul  is  not  alone  in 
himself. 

The  night  is  finished:  the  fire  is  a  heap  of 
burnt-out  ashes;  the  wild  beating  of  the  rain  is 
hushed  in  the  dawn.  With  a  deeper  knowledge 
we  throw  open  our  windows  to  greet  the  frontier 
morning. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WE  BECOME  PIONEER  SETTLERS.  HOW 
WE  DECIDE  TO  MAKE  A  HOME  OF  THE 
THINGS  OF  THE  GODS  AND  WHAT  HAP- 
PENS. 

'Twould  be  a  wildish  destiny, 
If  we,  who  thus  together  roam 
In  a  strange  land  and  far  from  home, 
Were  in  this  place  the  guests  of  Chance: 
Yet  who  would  stop  or  fear  to  advance, 
Though  home  or  shelter  he  had  none, 
With  such  a  sky  to  lead  him  on? 

— Wordsworth. 

The  moment  has  come  when,  like  our  fore- 
fathers, we  are  to  leave  behind  the  life  of  our 
own  people  and  go  forth  alone  to  reconstruct  it 
anew  in  a  frontier  land.  Until  now,  although  we 
have  wandered  well  over  this  outlying  province 
of  ancient  China,  at  each  journey*s  end  we  have 
returned  to  a  wholly  westernized  port  and  to  a 
conventional  Occidental  house.  But  now  we  are 
to  go  to  a  far  corner  of  Manchuria  and  settle 
in  a  town  of  which  few  outside  of  China  ever 

ISO 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       151 

heard — and  those  that  have,  seldom  remember. 
In  that  city  that  stretches  out,  out — a  thing  of 
Orientals — we  are  to  dwell.  There,  where  there 
is  no  white  man's  quarter,  no  white  man's  house, 
we  are  to  create,  out  of  the  fabric  of  an  alien 
civilization,  a  home.  Close  to  my  heart  lies 
this  great  advanture  of  home-making.  This  land 
has  made  known  unto  us  the  care-free  joy  of 
the  vagabond,  the  wild,  sweet  spirit  of  the  wan- 
derer; now  do  we  go  to  it  for  the  high  adventures 
of  the  pioneer  settler. 

In  this  country  many  times,  as  true  pilgrims, 
we  have  set  forth  with  light  hearts  and  few 
possessions;  now  we  were  to  set  forth  as  a 
good  pioneering  household,  stout  of  heart  and 
laden  with  many  possessions.  And  when  the 
evening  of  our  going  came  and  we  stood  in  the 
long,  frame  building  that  did  duty  as  a  railway 
station,  we  were  not  only  able  to  survey  with 
entire  equanimity  a  surprising  number  of  boxes 
and  bundles  of  our  own,  but  with  equal  com- 
posure did  we  behold,  nestled  close  to  them  as 
if  for  protection,  a  pile  of  Chinese  bedding  rolls, 
and  asleep  in  the  midst  the  boy's  family. 


1^2     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

It  mattered  little  that  we  had  only  been  pre- 
pared for  the  Chinese  wife  and  the  baby  that 
slept  at  her  breast.  To  be  sure,  when  the  business 
of  departure  had  descended  upon  us  and  we  had 
called  on  our  trusty  forty-year-old  boy — the  com- 
panion of  our  pilgrim  days — to  share  with  us  the 
hazards  of  this  new  enterprise,  he  had  responded 
that  if  he  left  the  patriarchal  roof  he  must  take 
with  him  his  wife  '  and  one  piece  son  just  now 
born/  That  in  true  Oriental  fashion  he  had  neg- 
lected to  mention  four  small  girls  that  now  lay 
sleeping  with  the  one  piece  son,  did  not  dismay 
us  one  whit.  The  settler  as  well  as  the  vagabond 
finds  nothing  to  daunt  him  in  the  unexpected. 
So  when  the  little,  puffing  train  tooted  its  mes- 
sage, we  flew  to  our  places,  smiling  benignly  at 
these  now  active  new  possessions  of  ours  w^ho 
were  hurrying  obediently  towards  the  third-class 
carriage,  each  bearing  reverently  a  bit  of  our 
household  goods. 

And  again  we  were  on  that  Oriental  night 
express,  moving  slowly  out  into  the  dark  to  what 
lay  beyond.  Above  the  noise,  and  pitch,  and  jar, 
my  heart  sang  its  new  song  of  adventure,  a 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers      153 

song  that  seemed  to  find  its  birth  in  a  shadowy 
memory  of  old  adventures,  of  old  striving  of 
pioneer  ancestors  whose  spirits  must  in  some 
strange  way  have  lived  anew  in  me.  I  knew  that 
night  of  ancestors  of  my  own,  long  forgotten  in 
the  world,  who  had  fared  forth  across  the  wide 
Atlantic,  building  their  log  cabins,  sowing  their 
fields.  There  was  a  long  procession  working 
its  way  straight  across  to  the  farthest  ex- 
tremity of  America.  And  here  was  I,  a  member 
of  the  last  generation;  and  still  did  we  go  forth 
to  pioneer.  This  call  had  carried  us  westward 
until  we  were  east.  Those  ancestors  had  left  an 
old  civilization  to  pioneer  in  a  new  one;  we  left 
a  new  civilization  to  pioneer  in  one  almost  as 
old  as  the  world.  And  yet  those  experiences  were 
deeply  akin. 

I  looked  into  the  moon-illumined  night  outside. 
On  the  plain  stood  the  great,  brown  shocks  of 
kaoliang;  they  were  the  abundant  plenty  that  the 
Chinese  frontiersmen  had  made  the  land  yield 
them.  By  and  by,  there  stood  forth  sturdy, 
square-built  houses  that  looked  like  fortresses; 
they  were  the  houses  of  the  Russian  frontiers- 


154  Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 
men,  built  with  high,  narrow  windows  to  shut 
out  the  cold.  Now  they  were  deserted,  and  the 
autumn  moonlight  streamed  through  the  glassless 
windows  and  across  the  empty  floors.  From  all 
nations  under  the  sun  there  step  forth  those  who 
follow  a  vision  known  only  to  the  pioneer.  Some 
reap  plenty  and  some  reap  lonely  graves,  but  all 
have  their  moment  of  vision.  And  the  train  with 
its  sleeping,  nodding  load  of  wayfarers  moved  on 
through  the  vast  frontier. 

In  the  very  early  morning,  the  jogging  Eastern 
train  was  ready  to  set  us  down  at  our  wayside 
station.  As  it  came  to  a  long,  shuddering  halt, 
the  sleeping  quiet  of  its  coaches  was  suddenly 
gone;  its  doors  flew  open  and  there  belched  from 
them  a  seething  multitude,  all  simultaneously  bent 
on  the  business  of  going  somewhere.  It  was  a 
sight  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  a  Kim — and  such 
hearts  had  we.  Thus  we  straightway  forgot 
everything  but  that,  hurrying,  motley  crowd ;  for- 
got our  own  business  in  our  absorbing  curiosity 
in  theirs.  O  bean-buyers !  with  all  your  shrewd- 
ness hid  behind  your  passive  Oriental  features, 
what  of  your  last  gamble  on  the  bean  market? 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       155 

Dignified,  long-gowned  merchants,  what  is  your 
fine  dream  for  this  outlying  province  ?  Big  peas- 
ant families  weighted  down  under  your  bundles 
and  your  babies,  we  know  your  dream;  on  this 
frontier  of  opportunity,  away  from  your  over- 
crowded town  in  one  of  the  ancient  provinces 
of  ancient  China,  you  are  looking  for  enough  to 
eat  and  wear.  But  here  comes  the  disciplined 
tread  of  the  Japanese  soldier.  May  he  not  take 
your  dream  from  you  ? 

Then  they  were  all  gone,  and  as  another  throng 
came  pouring  in  from  the  gateway  to  take  their 
places,  we  awoke  to  our  own  glorious  venture 
and  began  looking  for  our  possessions  and  our 
black-eyed  family,  even  unto  the  last  little  girl 
whom  the  boy  had  neglected  to  mention.  When 
the  train  gave  its  last  toot  and  puffed  away  into 
the  distance  with  its  new  wayfarers  bound  to 
every  corner  of  the  globe,  we  all  stood  in  a  dumb 
group  in  the  doorway  of  the  station,  looking  oflf 
over  the  gray  straggling  town — the  creation  of  the 
Chinese  frontiersmen ;  the  train,  our  last  link  with 
the  old  order  of  things,  was  irretrievably  gone. 
Then  we  looked  up  to  the  blue  sky,  that  wonder- 


156    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

ful  northern  sky  that  spread  out  above  the  low- 
curved  roofs,  free  and  unhampered  clear  to  the 
sun  just  rising  over  the  horizon,  and  our  spirits 
leaped  to  meet  our  adventure,  for 

"  Who  would  stop  or  fear  to  advance. 
Though  home  or  shelter  he  had  none, 
With  such  a  sky  to  lead  him  on  ?  " 

Bundles  and  babies,  we  stowed  them  all  away 
in  the  corners  of  our  agent's  shop  and  then  we 
were  ready  to  set  out  on  the  search  of  our  hearts. 
At  the  door  stood  the  equipage  for  the  journey. 
Did  man  ever  before  start  in  such  manner  for 
his  very  own  great  adventure,  start  with  the  ghost 
of  a  past-pioneer  movement  to  attend  him  on  his 
own  fresh  undertaking  as  a  settler?  But  here 
we  were  with  the  ghost  of  a  Russian  droshky,  a 
reHc  of  a  Russian  frontier  life  that  now  was  no 
more,  to  attend  us  on  our  way.  It  was  old  in 
limb  now  with  its  years  of  service.  All  the 
glories  of  the  grand  turn-out,  of  the  debonair 
days  of  the  Russian  advance,  had  been  stripped 
from  it.  The  curving  and  imposing  arch  over 
the  horse's  head  had  long  since  gone;  from  the 
moth-eaten  cushions  the  padding  stuck  out  in 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       157 

tufts;  the  springs  on  one  side  of  the  seat  were 
broken,  which  gave  the  thing  a  very  perceptible 
pitch  like  a  hard-pressed  ship  at  sea;  and  as  for 
the  harness — there  was  only  one  fragment  of 
leather  left;  the  rest  consisted  of  a  complicated 
mass  of  knotted  string.  Surely  it  was  a  melan- 
choly ghost,  but  it  dampened  not  the  ardor  of 
the  absurd  little  pony  in  the  big  shafts,  or  the 
ragamuffin  driver  on  the  high  seat  in  front,  or 
of  us,  the  new  would-be  settlers  who  clung  to  the 
sloping  seat  behind. 

The  ragamuffin  driver  gave  a  grand  flourish,  a 
crack  of  his  whip  and  the  gay  pony  broke  into 
a  lively  gallop.  Up  one  street  and  down  another 
we  rattled  in  this  city  where  tall  gilt  signs 
stretched  up  almost  into  the  sun  itself,  where 
the  willows  cast  lace-work  shadows  in  the  dust. 
We  were  caught  in  a  jumble  of  squeaking  wheel- 
barrows; we  were  extricated  only  to  be  caught  in 
a  jumble  of  pack-mules  and  other  dilapidated 
Russian  carriages.  By  alternate  hasty  gallops 
and  hastier  stops  did  we  pursue  our  quest! 

Our  state  of  mind  as  we  clung  to  that  sloping 
seat  became  a  mixture  of  pioneer  and  vagabond, 


158    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

— we  were  light  of  heart  because  that  gay  mo- 
ment was  sufficient  for  the  vagabond;  we  were 
stout  of  heart  because  we  knew,  down  in  our 
hearts,  that  we  should  need  to  be  long  before  our 
search  was  ended.  In  the  few  minutes  since  our 
arrival  we  had,  with  the  optimistic  adaptability 
born  of  much  sojourning,  accepted  the  fact  that 
there  were  not  even  Chinese  residences  in  this 
new  city  of  China.  This  was  the  commercial 
outlet  for  vast  farming  lands,  and  the  advance 
guard  of  Chinese  men  who  had  come  here  had 
left  their  families  safe  under  the  patriarchal  roofs 
in  Shantung.  Whether  we  had  a  hasty  glimpse 
as  we  galloped  or  a  calmer  inspection  during  our 
numerous  entanglements  with  the  traffic  in  the 
streets,  we  beheld  only  bewildering  rows  of  shops 
and  warehouses — never  the  high  wall  that  signi- 
fies for  all  China  that  there  is  a  house  within. 
We  had  therefore  given  up  the  idea  of  a  real 
Chinese  house  and  began  looking  simply  for  an 
empty  *  hong '  that,  by  dint  of  much  imagination, 
might  be  coaxed  into  the  semblance  of  a  home. 
Ah,  there  was  the  rub!  It  was  the  busiest 
time  of  year  in  this  thriving  town;  it  was  throng- 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       159 

ing  with  woodsmen  who  had  not  yet  left  for  the 
winter's  work  in  the  forests  farther  north;  it 
was  full  of  hand-craftsmen  making  the  sharp 
blades  of  axes,  the  heavy  and  stiff  leather  moc- 
casins, the  padded  garments  for  the  woodsmen;  it 
was  full  of  small  shopkeepers  selling  them.  We 
beheld  all  the  warehouses  piled  high  with  winter 
supplies  of  coarse  flour  and  sugar,  and  in  the 
sunny  courts  large  groups  of  men  worked  over 
the  cocoons  that  were  not  yet  ready  for  shipment 
to  the  south.  We  found  not  an  extra  inch  of 
space  in  all  that  great  market  of  the  frontier. 
As  we  entered  each  new  street,  hope  grew  anew 
only  to  die  at  the  end,  for  not  one  boarded  shop 
did  we  see.  On  the  second  day,  we  began  going 
over  the  streets  we  had  traversed  the  previous 
day  and  we  insisted  that  the  exuberant  driver 
should  make  the  pony  walk;  thus  could  we 
scrutinize  possible  opportunities  more  closely. 
But  the  day  ended  with  an  unanswered  quest  as 
had  the  previous  day.  The  third  day  we  began 
investigating  buildings  that  were  just  going  up, 
but  each  time  we  were  informed  that  they  had 
been  rented  last  Chinese  New  Year  or  that  they 


i6o    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

would  not  be  rented  until  this  New  Year.  New 
Year  was  the  time.  Why  did  we  not  wait? 
There  would  be  plenty  of  opportunities  then  and 
we  could  do  all  in  decency  and  order  as  custom 
decreed. 

"  But  that  is  four  months  away  and  winter  is 
coming,"  we  replied  in  consternation. 

But  that  meant  nothing  in  this  land  of  another 
civilization  than  our  own.  Custom  is  sacred  law 
here  and  alas,  alas,  a  Chinese  can  always  wait. 
The  gay  child  of  adventure  that  we  hugged  to 
our  bosoms  gave  promise  of  becoming  a  many- 
headed  hydra  of  despair.  But  there  was  still  the 
big,  blue  autumn  sky  and  the  mellowing  sunshine 
when  we  started  the  next  morning.  "  Look ! " 
we  suddenly  shouted  in  unison.  We  were  driving 
down  the  Great  Stone  Street  and  now  ahead, 
ending  the  way,  there  faced  us  a  low,  gray  wall 
with  one  great,  sweeping  pine  leaning  over  it! 
"  That  long  stretch  of  wall  might  be — yes,  it 
surely  must  be  a  house,"  we  cried  excitedly. 
"  Yes,  the  gate  is  shut  tight.  It  looks  unused. 
It  must  be  an  unoccupied  house  too.  Stop, 
driver."    We  called  and  poked  frantically  at  the 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       l6i 

ragamuffin's  back.  We  climbed  out  and  skipped 
up  the  stone  steps  to  the  black  door  in  the  gate. 
We  refused  to  ask  the  driver  even  one  tiny 
question.  Since  none  of  the  Chinese  had  told 
us  about  this  place  it  should  be  our  very  own 
discovery.  The  black  door  stood  ever  so  little 
open  and  we  could  peer  in;  there  was  not  a  soul 
to  be  seen.  So  hand  in  hand  we  strode  boldly 
into  our  paradise. 

And  what  a  paradise  of  soft  stillness  and 
shadowy  quiet!  The  thronging  streets  from 
which  we  had  just  come  might  have  been  a  thou- 
sand miles  away  for  all  they  had  to  do  with  this 
magic  place.  We  stood  in  a  court  flagged  with 
slabs  of  stone  between  which  wild  grasses  and 
mosses  grew,  and  all  hemmed  about  with  an 
old  gray  wall  over  which  leaned  twisted  pines. 
Standing  there  in  the  sunshine,  we  looked  and 
looked  until  our  sight  at  last  reached  the  farthest 
flaggings  where  lay  a  still,  blue  shadow,  the 
perfect  image  of  a  beautiful  curved-roof  temple 
beyond.  For  such  it  was — ^we  knew  by  the 
bronze  incense  burner,  taller  than  a  man,  that 
stood  in  the  sunlight  just  outside  the  blue  shadow. 


1 62     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

"  We  want  a  piece  of  this  paradise,"  we  cried. 
"  We  want  our  quest  to  end  here.  This  temple 
is  a  little  neglected,  forgotten  a  bit  by  the  busy 
commercialism  of  the  town.  Why  not  ask  the 
few  priests  that  must  be  about  if  we  might  not 
live  in  one  of  the  many  courts  of  the  priests? 
Surely  they  would  not  say  us  nay."  The  Chinese 
live  very  comfortably  with  their  gods  and  many 
a  foreigner  in  other  parts  has  often  been  offered 
their  hospitality  and  for  years  shared  the  same 
building  with  them. 

"  Think  of  it,"  we  cried,  "  pioneers  with  a 
chance  to  create  a  home  out  of  the  things  of  the 
gods.  At  the  end  of  each  day  in  the  market 
place  we  could  leave  it  behind  and  come  home  by 
the  way  of  the  incense  burner,  on  past  the  gods 
of  soft  gold,  sitting  on  their  golden  lotus  leaves^ 
to  an  inner  court,  our  sanctuary."  To  the  pioneer 
as  to  the  vagabond  chance  happenings  are  his 
inspiration.  Therefore  we  sat  on  the  corner  of 
the  temple  veranda  with  the  still,  blue  shadow 
at  our  feet  and  knew  again  we  had  caught 
the  gay  child  of  adventure.  We  dreamed  and 
planned  and  dreamed  again  until  the  sunshine 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       163 

crept  right  up  to  the  temple  door.  Then  we  ran 
bHthely  back  to  our  ghostly  chariot,  and  drove 
back  into  the  world  in  search  of  a  middle-man  in 
order  that  all  might  be  done  in  accordance  with 
decent  custom. 

Many  are  the  snares,  many  the  ditches  that  are 
set  about  the  road  that  leads  to  the  *  adventure 
splendid.'  It  is  three  weeks  now  since  that  day 
of  discovery  and  inspiration;  our  flying  haste 
ended  that  very  day  at  the  door  of  the  shop. 
Evidently  the  only  ones  that  could  ever  be  in  a 
hurry  are  the  Chinese  pony  and  ourselves.  We 
have  waited  for  the  middle-man  to  consult  the 
elders  of  the  town;  we  have  waited  for  the  elders 
to  consult  the  priests.  All  of  them — elders, 
priests,  and  gods — move  in  a  mysterious  way 
unknown  to  the  Occidental;  we  cannot  under- 
stand why  they  have  said  us  neither  yea  nor  nay. 

Meanwhile  we  have  lived  in  two  tiny  rooms 
up  under  the  eaves  of  the  shop.  But  that  did 
not  matter  as  long  as  we  had  our  vision  to  keep 
us  company.  One  can  live  anywhere  with  a 
vision.  But  to-day  it  was  faded.  Last  night  the 
Manchurian  autumn  ended  with  the  twilight.    In 


164     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

the  night  the  wind  crept  under  the  tiles  of  the 
roof  and  rattled  them  and  to-day  there  is  in  the 
air  the  threat  of  the  cruel  northern  winter.  We 
must  forget  our  vision  of  the  temple  and  house 
ourselves  against  the  cold.  Also  the  shopmen 
need  even  this  little  space.  Just  what  is  to  be 
done  we  do  not  know.  If  only  we  knew  if  the 
middle-man,  the  elders,  and  the  priests  did  or  did 
not  intend  to  rent  us  a  corner  in  the  temple;  but 
for  this  knowledge  we  dare  not  wait.  We  have 
come  to  our  last  resource,  the  boy.  Perhaps  his 
Oriental  brain,  well  steeped  in  the  ways  of  the 
Occidental,  can  solve  the  problem. 

"  Boy,"  we  cried,  "  what  can  do  ?  No  can 
stay  here;  no  have  got  other  place." 

"  I  think.  By  and  by  I  talkee."  This  was  at 
breakfast  as  in  some  miraculous  way  he  managed 
to  serve  us  by  squeezing  himself  between  the  wall 
and  the  breakfast  table  that  I  vow  touched 
elbow.  Whatever  happened  to  his  already  over- 
thin  personality,  the  boy  was  bent  on  keeping  up 
the  face  of  the  family,  which  just  then  consisted 
in  the  proper  serving  of  breakfast  so  that  all 
should  be  as  it  should  before  the  Chinese  who 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       165 

never  passed  our  door  without  looking  in.  He 
could  only  save  our  face  in  one  way  at  a  time. 
Later  he  would  attack  the  problem  of  saving  our 
face  in  the  matter  of  winter  abodes. 

Late  in  the  forenoon  he  appeared  before  us 
saying,  "Just  now  can  talkee.  Proper  China- 
man wait  long  time.  Savee,  white  no  can  wait. 
He  talkee  wait,  wait;  perhaps  master  no  likee 
wait,  pay  big  money  so  can  catchee  temple  chop, 
chop.  Very  bad,  master  lose  face.  I  think  fool 
Chinaman.  This  shop  got  one  big  godown.  Just 
now  have  got  plenty  piecee  room.  We  takee 
one  little  piece  godown.  Makee  proper  house. 
Chinaman  see  all  things  white  man  do.  Then 
perhaps  talkee  temple.  No  talkee,  mascee ;  makee 
godown  one  piecee  fine  house.  Master,  missie, 
come  look,  see?"  he  pleaded,  finally  ending  this 
unprecedented  long  speech. 

So  this  was  the  game.  "After  all,  the  gray 
wall  does  not  shut  out  the  commercialism  of  the 
town,"  we  said  as  we  followed  the  boy  down  the 
steep  stairs,  through  the  many  rooms  of  the  shop 
below,  across  the  street,  through  another  shop 
into  a  cQurt    How  different  from  the  great  dis- 


1 66  Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 
covery  upon  which  it  seemed  we  must  now  turn 
our  backs.  We  stood  in  the  doorway  and  sur- 
veyed, not  stone-flagging,  but  dirt  packed  hard 
by  the  many  feet  that  tramped  across  it  to  the 
warehouses.  There  was  no  tree  overhanging  a 
wall  here,  no  incense  burner.  The  only  thing 
relieving  the  dreary  barrenness  of  this  court  was 
a  rough  bench  made  out  of  bricks,  topped  with 
a  row  of  wash-basins  where,  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, the  apprentices  did  a  hasty  cleansing  of 
hands  and  faces.  "  Come ;  look,  see !  "  cried  the 
boy,  leading  us  towards  a  building  where  the 
paper  panes  of  the  windows  were  torn  and  frayed 
and  the  tattered  ends  flapped  disconsolately  in  the 
wintry  winds.  As  we  pushed  open  the  door  that 
moved  heavily  in  wooden  sockets,  we  looked  into 
a  long  room  that  extended  the  length  of  the 
court.  Three  solid  walls  of  masonry,  a  few 
narrow  windows  in  the  fourth  wall  (the  side 
towards  the  courtyard),  and  a  dirt  floor  gave  the 
place  a  melancholy  resemblance  to  a  shed. 

So  this  is  where  our  '  Vision  Splendid '  really 
leads,  I  was  thinking  somewhat  bitterly  when  I 
suddenly  remembered  that  I  was  a  pioneer  woman 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers  167 
and  pioneer  women  are  equal  to  anything.  I 
remembered  just  in  time,  for  at  that  very 
moment  my  husband  came  anxiously  towards  me 
saying  : 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  do  it  for  a  little 
while?  If  not  you  might  go  to  Shanghai  until 
we  can  do  better.    I  won't  ask  it  of  you." 

"  Never,"  I  cried,  holding  my  head  high.  "  I 
was  thinking  of  the  woman  out  West  who  could 
create  a  home  out  of  a  geranium  and  a  tomato 
can,"  I  said.  "  We  haven't  a  geranium  but  weVe 
got  a  beautiful  curved  roof  to  our  shed.  Fm 
glad  the  Chinese  put  curved  roofs  on  their  ware- 
houses. They  offer  inspiration  .  .  .  and  then 
you  know  there  is  always  the  alluring  if  some- 
what vague  hope  that  the  priests  and  elders  may 
give  up  the  game  of  outwaiting  us." 

But  there  was  no  sign  from  the  priests, 
although  we  dallied  a  few  days  longer  in  a  last 
vain  hope.  Then  one  morning  when  there  was 
an  unmistakable  nip  in  the  air,  we  walked — with 
those  stout  hearts  which  we  now  so  much  needed 
— right  up  to  the  warehouse.  "We  shall,"  we 
cried,  "breathe  the  breath  of  life  into  you,  O 


1 68     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

long,  thin  godown.  We  regard  it  as  a  task  that 
would  test  the  prowess  of  any  settler." 

Having  thus  addressed  the  godown  that,  except 
for  its  curving  roof,  bore  no  gentle  aspect  of 
home  about  its  very  forbidding-looking  self,  we 
fell  to  work.  It  was  all  more  discouraging  than 
you  may  suppose,  for  that  long,  unbending  ware- 
house would  not  lend  itself  to  any  comfortable 
grouping.  One  could  do  nothing  with  its  busi- 
ness-like proportions  but  put  the  rooms  along  in 
a  row.  There  was  no  great  clinging  together  of 
the  would-be  life  of  this  home  but  a  certain,  cold 
aloofness  between  the  kitchen  at  one  end  of  the 
house  and  the  bedrooms  at  the  other.  However, 
we  were  undaunted. 

"  We  will  make  it  come  right  to-morrow,''  we 
said,  as  the  workmen  departed  that  night  after 
finishing  the  last  thin  partition.  "  To-morrow 
we  will  give  the  house  its  breath  of  Hfe.  We'll 
build  it  a  fireplace  on  that  long,  bare  wall  at  the 
back  of  the  living-room  and  then  the  warehouse 
will  no  longer  be  a  lifeless  thing."  And  we 
passed  out  through  the  shop  in  front  where  the 
day's  accounts  were  being  balanced,  where  yel- 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       169 

low  faces  leaned  over  the  counters  or  the  open 
braziers.  The  light  glowed  up  into  their  faces 
and  over  the  shoes  of  silver,  curious,  rough- 
beaten  masses  of  shining  metal,  the  solid  cur- 
rency of  the  town.  ''  San-shi-er,  san-shi-san,'* 
rose  the  voices  of  the  shopmen  singing  aloud  the 
accounts,  and  the  abacus  balls  flying  backwards 
and  forwards  like  shuttles  under  their  touch 
clicked  an  accompaniment.  As  we  went  on  across 
the  street,  through  the  other  shop  of  shouting 
voices,  clicking  abacus  balls  and  piles  of  roughly 
wrought  silver,  our  hearts  again  entered  with 
zeal  into  their  new  adventure.  We  sang  softly. 
"  We  are  pioneers  building  our  cabin,  with  these 
yellow  men  with  their  shouting  voices  and  click- 
ing abacus  balls,  crowding  close  as  the  wilderness 
crowded  around  our  ancestors."  And  we  knew 
we  had  wrought  well  that  day,  translating  the 
image  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  home — and  to-morrow 
we  should  surely  begin  the  fireplace. 

On  this  frontier  there  were  of  course  no 
masons  that  had  ever  built  a  fireplace  and  neither 
had  we,  but  we  knew  a  charmed  formula;  so 
with  exceeding  great  faith  we  went  to  bed  that 


170    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

night  in  our  garret  up  under  the  eaves  and  got 
up  next  morning  mumbling  it  as  an  incantation, 
— "  the  opening  of  the  firebox  must  be  five  times 
the  flue."  With  the  warm  feehng  of  the  creator 
we  descended  upon  that  lifeless  warehouse — the 
masons  were  already  there,  squatting  on  the  dirt 
floor,  smoking  their  pipes  with  the  quarter-inch 
bowls.  We  explained — "  the  opening  of  the  fire- 
box must  be  five  times  the  flue,  exactly."  In  a 
moment  every  man  of  them  became  a  stolid  lump 
of  unresponsive  human  clay.  By  nature,  they  op- 
posed exactness;  by  nature,  they  opposed  inno- 
vation. Now  there  is  nothing  in  the  wide  world 
so  stubborn  as  an  unyielding  Chinaman.  Hour 
in  and  hour  out,  that  day  and  the  next,  and  the 
next,  we  took  turns  sitting,  shivering  on  an  over- 
turned box,  coaxing,  prodding,  scolding,  until  our 
charmed  formula  took  shape  in  brick  and  mortar. 
There  it  stood,  a  thing  complete.  Now  should  we 
see  our  home  leap  into  life.  We  piled  it  with 
wood;  the  boy,  masons,  apprentices  of  the  shop, 
heads  of  shops,  stood  around  in  unbelieving  si- 
lence. We  touched  the  match.  Puff,  puflt  .  .  . 
the  room  reeked  with  smoke.     "  I  told  you  so," 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       171 

was  the  undeniable  meaning  in  the  look  of  the 
head-mason.  "  He  had  expected  as  much  from 
two  barbarians  trying  to  tell  him  his  business  and 
one  of  them  a  woman  at  that."  So  spoke  his  very 
contemptuous  features. 

In  the  midst  of  this  strange,  human  wilderness, 
we  had  wrought  and  failed.  We  had  lost  face 
before  the  Chinese!  That  night  we  took  no 
delight  in  the  world-old  life  in  the  shops  through 
which  we  passed.  It  was  a  strange  and  alien 
thing,  pressing  in  and  swallowing  up  our  little 
attempt  at  a  cabin  of  our  own.  We  would  not 
again  pin  our  faith  to  foreign  formulas.  We'd 
hereafter  offer  incantations  and  take  our  chances 
with  the  gods  of  luck. 

After  that,  we  began  chipping  off  a  little  here, 
putting  on  a  little  there  and  trying  that  fireplace 
again  and  again.  "  Someday  we'll  strike  the 
lucky  combination,"  we  said,  working  doggedly 
and  refusing  to  notice  that  day  by  day  winter 
was  creeping  down  from  the  north.  And  was 
there  ever  one  calamity  that  did  not  breed  others  ? 
When  we  came  to  unpack  our  kitchen  stove  we 
found  it  was  broken  past  repair.     Like  every- 


172     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

thing  from  hairpins  to  pianos,  there  was  not 
another  obtainable  any  nearer  than  Shanghai. 
Then  as  I  tinkered  with  Chinese  braziers,  trying 
to  evolve  an  oven  and  my  husband  lay  flat  on 
the  floor,  chipping  away  at  the  mysterious  insides 
of  the  fireplace,  there  came  a  Chinese  merchant 
with  urgent  business;  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  for  my  husband  to  start  on  a  two-weeks'  trip 
*  up  country '  and  that  immediately,  and  the  boy 
must  of  necessity  go  with  him. 

When  the  hurry  of  their  departure  was  over, 
I  stood  in  the  center  of  the  living  room,  thinking 
of  broken  stoves,  surveying  the  smoke-blackened 
fireplace,  the  dull  mud  walls,  the  dirt  floor,  my 
little  non-English-speaking  cook  who  in  turn  was 
surveying  me  and  the  homesick  wife  of  the 
boy  who  stood  in  the  doorway,  gazing  at 
me  like  some  dumb  animal.  It  was  a  barren 
moment. 

Suddenly  I  bethought  myself  that  in  the  com- 
motion of  leavetaking  we  had  neglected  to  try 
our  fireplace  after  the  last  scraping.  Once  more 
I  gathered  sticks  and  struck  a  match.  What 
magic  had  my  husband  wrought  in  that  final  bit 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       173 

of  chipping?  The  fire  burned  brightly  and  in 
the  glowing  light  the  rooms  of  the  house  knit 
themselves  together.  In  my  moment  of  greatest 
need  did  the  warehouse  become  a  living  home, 
offering  me  warmth  and  shelter !  Now  was  there 
forged  in  me  the  unyielding  metal  of  pioneer 
women.  No  difficulty,  no  disaster,  no  discour- 
agement should  keep  me  from  the  creation  of 
my  home. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  how  I  worked  to 
properly  house  that  spirit  of  home  that  had  come 
so  mysteriously  at  my  bidding!  It  was  a  lovely 
sprite  that  I  must  keep  alive  and  offer  fitting 
surroundings.  Immediately  it  shook  its  head  at 
those  mud  walls  and  dirt  floors.  Truly  they  must 
be  changed  I  said  to  myself,  and  after  due  bar- 
gaining on  the  part  of  my  middle-man  (the  cook) 
and  much  waiting  on  my  own  part,  the  Chinese 
paper-hangers  descended  on  my  little  cabin  in  the 
clearing. 

And  then  I  discovered  there  was  a  new  joy 
in  pioneering  in  this  very  old  civilization;  I  was 
always  finding  institutions  of  my  own  land  and 
paper-hanging  was  one  of  them — although  to  be 


174    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

sure  in  a  way  so  different  that  it  was  scarcely 
recognizable.  Two  Chinese  with  their  queues 
wrapped  around  their  heads  for  greater  efficiency, 
came  bearing  scaffolding  large  enough  to  use 
in  scaling  a  three-story  house  and  absurdly  small 
sheets  of  paper  about  the  size  of  a  man's  two 
hands.  They  made  of  the  rooms  a  mass  of 
intricate  scaffolding.  It  extended  out  of  the 
windows;  it  extended  out  of  the  doors,  again 
reducing  my  house  to  a  formidable  object  that 
denied  me  shelter.  On  top  of  this  scaffolding  the 
workmen  squatted,  and  little  by  little,  square  by 
square,  ever  so  slowly,  they  papered  with  those 
tiny  sheets  of  paper  which,  by  virtue  of  many 
years  on  the  shelf  of  a  dingy  shop,  had  yellowed 
to  a  fine  old  ivory. 

At  last  there  came  an  evening  when  the  scaf- 
folding which  made  my  house  bristle  like  a 
porcupine  was  taken  down,  and  the  sprite,  housed 
in  the  fireplace,  played  over  rafters  of  roughly 
hewn  logs  and  walls  that  looked  soft  and 
benign  as  the  walls  of  a  home  should.  Then  I 
hurried  to  work  some  marvel  with  the  dirt  floor 
that  despite  the  leaping  sprite  and  the  soft,  en- 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       175 

folding  walls,  still  made  the  place  look  like  a 
hovel. 

"  Cook/'  I  cried,  "  it  is  late  and  the  curfew 
has  rung — but  I  cannot  wait.  Run  quickly  to 
the  back  door  of  a  matting  shop  and  tell  them 
the  foreigner  wants  a  great  many  straw  mats.'* 

He  sighed  softly.  Wherefore  the  impatience  of 
this  barbarian?  But  he  went  as  he  was  bidden 
and  came  back  with  a  great  roll  of  mats.  Soon 
there  was  not  an  inch  of  the  brown  dirt  to  be 
seen;  but  the  hungry  winter  was  still  unabashed 
and  crept  up  through  the  matting,  grasping  us 
in  its  chilling  touch  as  we  stood  there.  Then 
I  brought  out  our  thick  camel's  hair  rugs  of 
beautiful  workmanship  whose  soft,  deep  surfaces 
still  held  the  colors  of  the  desert  over  which  the 
camels  had  traveled.  The  fire  nodded  assent ;  the 
hungry  winter  was  at  last  shut  away;  even 
the  windows  refused  it  admittance,  for  the  new 
panes  of  paper  we  had  put  in  that  day  were 
strong  and  tough,  offering  staunch  resistance  to 
the  rough  hand  of  the  Manchurian  winter,  now 
beating  against  them.  I  wanted  to  work  on, 
work  until  the  final  touch  of  home  was  there. 


176    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

But  one  look  at  my  cook  and  I  knew  that  I 
had  outraged  custom  far  enough;  the  packing- 
cases  must  wait. 

The  next  day  as  soon  as  the  shutters  were 
down  from  the  front  of  the  shop  which  mounted 
guard  over  my  clearing  and  my  cabin,  I  hurried 
back  to  work.  The  sunlight  was  shining  on  my 
paper  panes  so  that  they  glowed  warm  with 
welcome;  the  curving  roof  brooded  over  my 
house;  and  when  I  passed  under  the  door*s  rough 
lintel  I  found  a  small  remnant  of  life  left  in 
my  fire. 

Day  in  and  day  out,  I  worked  over  the  magic 
thing  taking  shape  under  my  hand.  Each  room 
brought  me  anew  to  the  problem  of  transforming 
bleak  Chinese  warehouse  to  Western  home,  but 
the  kitchen  almost  defied  me.  Its  mud  floor,  its 
smoking  braziers  that  gave  off  no  heat  to  dispel 
the  gnawing  Manchurian  cold,  and  its  Chinese 
cook  who  went  about  in  a  coat  and  a  for- 
eign derby  which  gave  him  and  the  kitchen 
an  imminent  air  of  departure,  seemed  to  have 
no  connection  with  the  warm,  sweet-smelling 
kitchens  that  I  felt  sure  my  ancestors  had  had 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       177 

in  their  cabins.  But  I  finally  achieved  an  oven, 
made  out  of  twisted  wire  for  the  grate  and  a 
bent  tin  to  cover  it,  which  I  could  use  over  the 
brazier.  This  gave  to  the  kitchen  the  sweet 
smell  of  baking  bread  and  roasting  fowl.  But 
this  wee  progress  towards  the  kitchen  of  my 
dreams  nearly  brought  upon  us  dire  calamity.  I 
was  forced  to  remember  that  the  way  of  the 
inventor  is  thorny  in  a  land  of  ancient  civiliza- 
tion. The  cook  threatened  to  leave!  He  had 
through  successive  years  become  used  to  a  for- 
eign stove  and  now  to  accept  such  an  innovation 
as  this — custom  was  altogether  too  sacred — ^he 
could  not  change  twice  inside  of  a  dozen  years. 
He  must  go.  "  Remain  but  a  few  days,"  I 
pleaded,  "  until  the  master  returns."  The  strat- 
egy worked !  Like  all  his  race  he  was  a  fatalist 
and  before  these  days,  which  I  begged  of  him, 
were  finished,  he  had  ceased  to  struggle  against 
the  inevitable. 

And  now  my  cabin  is  finished:  here  it  stands 
in  the  midst  of  this  city  of  another  civilization. 
In  the  shop  in  front,  in  every  shop  all  up  and 
down  the  streets  of  the  town,  men  of  another 


178  Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 
race  lean  over  the  counters,  warming  their  hands 
over  the  braziers.  All  day  the  abacus  balls 
click  and  each  night  sing-song  voices  chant  the 
day's  accounts  as  the  men  pile  up  the  shoes  of 
silver  and  count  the  last  copper.  But  now  it  is 
late;  the  curfew  has  rung,  hushing  all  the 
manifold  sounds  of  this  strange  civilization  into 
a  deep  stillness  that  only  an  Oriental  city  can 
know — a  city  that  has  no  roaring  trains  nor 
clanging  machinery.  And  here  my  home  stands 
complete  with  this  mysterious  other  life  pressing 
close  around  it.  As  I  look  into  the  glowing  coals 
of  my  fire,  a  host  of  faces  appear, — my  own 
ancestors  that  have  struggled  to  settle  some  far- 
away cabin  on  ranch  or  clearing  in  the  forest. 
To  them  I  say :  "  This  is  the  best  creation  I 
could  make."  And  they  nod  approval  to  me, 
across  the  years.  Then  suddenly  I  knew  I  had 
achieved  my  dream, — a  home  built  far  away  on 
some  frontier.  In  this  moment  the  warehouse 
has  become  for  me  the  beloved  creation,  the  work 
of  my  own  hands.  I  do  not  need  to  explain  to 
those  faces  in  the  fire ;  they  know  *  the  wonder 
and  the  joy  that  went  to  build  their  own.* 


We  Become  Pioneer  Settlers       179 

In  the  deep  stillness,  I  started  at  the  sudden 
sound  of  the  great  wooden  bolts  of  the  shop 
door,  grating  in  their  sockets  and  a  shutter  being 
taken  down.  There  was  a  sound  of  steps  in  the 
court.  My  husband  threw  wide  '  the  wind  doors  * 
of  this  new  strange  home  and  strode  in.  He  too 
fell  under  the  spell.  "  Why,  it  is  not  the  ware- 
house at  all,"  he  cried.  He  paused  and  then 
walked  straight  to  the  fireplace,  saluting  his  new 
hearth  with  the  old  Turkish  salutation :  "  At  your 
feet  I  lay  my  heart  and  my  conscience." 

Just  as  that  final  seal  was  put  upon  this 
beloved  cabin,  the  boy  came  in  with  an  air  of 
triumph.  In  his  rapid  passage  through  the  front 
shop,  it  seems,  he  had  acquired  a  marvelous 
amount  of  knowledge  and  the  stamp  of  success 
had  been  put  upon  his  sagacity.  In  his  very  best 
Chinese  he  announced :  "  Most  worthy  master,  the 
priests  have  decided  that  it  is  of  no  value  to  wait 
longer.  It  gives  them  great  pleasure  to  grant  to 
you  the  hospitality  of  the  gods  and  protection 
under  the  temple  roof.  It  is  well ;  for  although 
the  hospitality  of  this  shop  is  great  they  have 
need  of  the  space  for  the  silk  cocoons — now 


l8o    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

that  there  is  for  you  the  hospitality  of  the  gods." 
And  thus  in  the  moment  of  my  greatest  joy 
in  the  completion  of  my  cabin,  did  I  learn  that 
the  frontier  settler  can  hug  no  creation  to  his 
breast.  The  gay  child  of  adventure  beckoned 
us  on;  and  it  was  not  to  the  honor  of  man  and 
woman,  compounded  of  the  spirit  of  vagabond 
and  settler,  to  say  him  nay. 


CHAPTER  X 

OF  HOW  WE  FOLLOW  THE  OLD  CUSTOM 
OF  ALL  WHO  COME  FROM  'WITHIN  THE 
WALL'  AND  MAKE  A  PILGRIMAGE  BACK 
TO  OLD  CATHAY. 

If  a  man  hath  two  loaves  let  him  sell  one  and  buy 
flowers,  for  bread  is  food  for  the  body  but  flowers  are 
food  for  the  soul. — The  Koran. 


Spring  had  come  to  the  prairies  and  hill 
country  of  Manchuria,  and  with  it  there  had 
come  to  us  a  divine  discontent:  houses  fretted 
our  spirits,  all  the  settled  ways  of  our  own  civili- 
zation, which  we  had  been  at  such  pains  to  build 
up  around  ourselves  as  pioneer  settlers,  served 
now  only  to  muffle  some  reality  of  life  that  we 
suddenly  wanted  to  grasp.  Old  and  insistent 
voices  called  in  our  hearts,  "  Ye  are  of  the  free 
people,  deny  not  your  heritage."  In  some  degree 
of  intensity  these  voices  had  spoken  every  spring 
of  our  lives,  we  confided  to  each  other,  making 

i8i 


1 82     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

us  in  our  school  days  hate  the  bondage  that 
existed  in  the  straight  rows  of  desks  in  the  school 
room,  making  us  later — when  we  had  openly 
embraced  the  world  of  the  pioneer  and  the  vaga- 
bond— flee  each  spring  to  the  great  trail — albeit 
we  went  on  business.  But  this  year  the  voices 
would  brook  no  concessions  with  the  material  call 
of  gain.  "  The  sum  total  of  your  spirits  must 
come  out  to  us,"  came  from  an  uproar  of  voices 
within  us. 

Had  we  lived  in  the  Occident  we  might  have 
been  embarrassed  as  to  how  to  answer  such  an 
uncompromising  invitation.  Had  we  answered 
it,  there  might  have  been  the  danger  that  people 
would  think  us  touched  with  some  madness. 
Perhaps  therefore  we  would  have  hid  the  call 
deep  in  our  soul  and  sternly  denied  it.  Few  men 
there  make  a  clean-cut  flight;  rather  they  let  a 
little  work  trail  after  them  to  justify  to  them- 
selves and  others  that  unreasonable  crazy  impulse 
that  has  sent  them  out. 

But  in  the  Orient,  millions  of  souls,  from  the 
southernmost  point  of  India  to  the  northernmost 
corners  of  Mongolia,  Tibet  and  Manchuria,  are 


And  start  on  pilgrimages  to  far  off  temples. 


Worshiper  after  worshiper  recorded  his  journey  to  the  little 
temple  under  whose  shadow  we  lived. 

[page  183] 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  183 

wont  to  leave  the  counting-room  and  the  shop,  to 
throw  down  the  hammer  and  flail  and  start  on 
pilgrimages  to  far-off  temples,  to  sacred  moun- 
tains, to  holy  streams.  No  one  in  their  half  of 
the  world  thinks  it  strange  that  a  man  should 
cast  aside  all  thoughts  of  material  gain  to  go 
on  a  quest  of  the  spirit.  "  If  a  man  hath  two 
loaves  let  him  sell  one  and  buy  flowers,  for  bread 
is  food  for  the  body  but  flowers  are  food  for 
the  soul."  So  saith  the  Koran.  So  doth  the 
Mohammedan,  the  Buddhist,  the  Confucianist 
start,  without  explanation,  to  hunt  for  flowers 
for  their  souls  .  .  .  and  the  spring  pilgrimages 
have  begun!  m 

Day  after  day  we  watched  the  vivid  green 
buds  grow  on  the  willow  trees;  day  after  day 
we  listened  to  the  now  almost  continuous  sound 
of  the  temple  gong,  as  worshiper  after  wor- 
shiper recorded  his  journey  to  the  little  temple 
under  whose  shadow  we  lived;  day  after  day  we 
heard  the  increasing  din  of  the  voices  of  the 
people  who,  their  worship  being  completed, 
feasted  and  made  merry  in  the  temple  grounds 
near  the  open-air  theater.     Pan*s  voice  became 


184     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

hauntingly  reminiscent  through  it  all.  Sly 
fellow,  he  even  piped  to  us  in  the  beggar  chil- 
dren's chanting  petition, 

"  Give  me  a  dongpan,  give  me  a  cash. 
Want  to  buy  a  donkey,  want  to  buy  a  horse." 

Bells,  worshipers,  and  beggars  .  .  .  Pan,  saucy 
fellow,  cajoled  us  through  them  all.  At  last 
we  could  resist  no  longer,  and  cried,  with 
one  accord,  why  should  we  not  go  on  a  pil- 
grimage ourselves?  All  frontiersmen  who  come 
^  from  '  within  the  wall '  go  on  pilgrimages  to  old 
China.  We  have  made  all  manner  of  adventur- 
ous journeyings;  why  not  go  back  ourselves? 
why  not  undertake  this  Eastern  adventure  of  the 
soul?  Leave  behind  the  work  of  the  settler,  the 
cares  of  business!  Dare  to  slip  the  leash  of  the 
material! 

We  took  counsel  together.  Where  should  the 
pilgrimage  be?  There  was  such  a  bewildering 
array  of  possible  goals.  How  could  one  be 
single-minded  and  choose  among  them  ? 

"  I  know  a  wonderful  spot  far  away  to  the 
north,  where  the  temple  roofs  are  of  gold  and 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  185 

the  way  is  arduous  and  the  place  remote/'  I 
cried. 

"  But  I  know  a  spot  far  away  to  the  south," 
mocked  my  husband,  "  peach  trees  are  in  bloom, 
this  very  minute,  by  the  city  wall  and  the  whole 
country-side  is  astir.  I  say  we  follow  them  to 
the  Temple  of  the  Heavenly  Bamboos." 

"  How  terrible  to  have  to  choose,"  I  wailed. 
"If  we  go  to  either  of  these  places  we  cannot 
go  to  the  Sacred  Mountain;  ascend  its  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  steps  which  Confucius 
climbed.  The  stones  must  be  worn  smooth  with 
the  passing  of  the  hundreds  of  pilgrims  in  the 
hundreds  of  years  since  then,"  I  mused.  "  Think 
of  such  a  pilgrimage !  " 

"I  have  it,"  exclaimed  my  husband.  "We 
will  go  where  the  Confucianists  gather  together 
at  dawn  to  offer  the  sacrifice  of  the  boar  and 
the  ram  and  the  bull.  You  must  hear  the  herald 
cry  from  the  outer  darkness  to  the  chosen  man 
who  goes  in  to  offer  the  sacrifice." 

But  I  shook  my  head;  so  we  sighed  in  unison 
at  a  land  of  so  many  pilgrimages.  There  seemed 
nothing  to  do  but  take  up  the  life  of  the  eternal 


1 86     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

seeker.  Then  in  glorious  irrelevancy  we  sud- 
denly joined  hands,  forgetting  all  the  places  we 
had  mentioned.  We  knew  where  we  would  go! 
We  would  go  down  inside  the  Great  Wall — 
shutting  our  eyes  to  a  beautiful  temple  that  hung 
poised  like  a  bird  on  a  ledge  of  rock  under  the 
Great  Wall's  shadow — move  on  through  the  flat, 
treeless  province  of  Chili  till  we  were  close  upon 
the  wonderful,  the  mysterious  city  of  Peking. 
Then  being  gloriously  inconsistent  pilgrims,  aban- 
don there  that  natural  means  of  entrance  into  the 
city,  the  te-rain  (as  Kim  called  it),  and  trust  to 
the  uncertainties  of  the  road — to  cart  or  donkey 
as  chance  might  lead.  We  would  enter  the  city 
of  a  thousand  intrigues  with  the  dust  of  the  road 
upon  our  feet  and  the  simplicity  of  the  foot-worn 
pilgrim  in  our  hearts.  Straight  across  that  dust- 
driven  city  would  we  go,  stopped  not  by  its 
alluring  mysteries;  pass  out  by  one  of  the  gates 
on  the  west  and  take  the  road  to  the  Western 
Hills  where  temple  after  temple  lies  nestled  in 
the  folds  of  these  low  mountains. 

"  Out  there  to  the  temple  of  Tan  Chou  Ssu 
we  are  going,"  we  concluded  triumphantly.    Then 


/  say  we  follow  them  to  the  Temple  of  the  Heavenly  Bamboos. 

[page  185] 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  187 

with  sweet  content  we  sat  and  pictured  it  all: 
the  gray  dust,  the  multitudinous  odors,  the  hollow 
rumble  of  the  carts  passing  through  the  tunnel- 
like passage  of  the  Peking  gates.  All  this  and 
much  more  we  could  picture,  but,  true  to  our 
heritage,  we  could  not  and  we  would  not  seek  to 
divine  what  was  to  be  the  adventure  of  this 
new  venture.  Make  a  certainty  of  the  uncer- 
tainty of  what  would  happen  next?  That  would 
take  the  flavor  out  of  life,  and  vagabondage,  and 
pilgrimage.  "  Out  to  meet  adventure !  "  we  cried, 
and  commenced  the  delightful  process  of  casting 
aside  the  things  of  civilization. 

On  Japanese  trains,  then  on  Chinese  trains  we 
journeyed  across  the  great  outlying  province  of 
Manchuria.  Every  hour  joy  grew  within  us,  as 
we  watched  the  green  marching  up  the  slopes  in 
the  hill  country,  as  we  watched  the  faint  shimmer 
of  green  of  the  half -inch-high  kaoliang,  stretch- 
ing away  into  the  remote  distance  of  the  far-off, 
level  horizon.  How  ample  was  the  world !  There 
was  no  place  here  for  any  pinch  or  cramp  of 
our  bodies  or  our  souls.  We  forgot  the  confines 
of  joggling  train;  to  us  as  to  the  Chinese  it  had 


1 88     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

become  a  fire-cart,  a  thing  of  wonder.  In  a  fire- 
cart  then  we  traveled  on  through  this  ample 
world. 

When  the  evening  of  the  second  day  came, 
again  we  saw  hills  standing  out  against  the  hori- 
zon and  on  the  very  ridge  of  them  there  stood 
forth  the  Great  Wall  of  China.  Up  one  ridge, 
down  another,  out  one  spur,  along  another,  down 
into  the  lowlands  across  the  salt-marshes  towards 
the  sea,  it  advanced  like  a  great  army  drawn  up. 
In  a  moment  more  with  a  roar  we  had  passed 
through  it.  After  two  years  on  the  frontier  we 
were  once  more  in  ancient  China — in  search  of 
the  roots  of  the  life  we  had  shared  on  the 
frontier. 

At  the  end  of  another  day  we  were  nearing 
Peking,  but  we  had,  as  yet,  come  upon  no  signs 
of  the  yearly  pilgrimages.  Not  only  were  there 
no  signs  of  this  Eastern  manifestation  of  spring, 
but  there  began  to  appear  evidence  of  the  modern 
world  of  convention.  Even  the  fire-cart  changed 
back  into  a  train,  for,  after  we  left  Tientsin,  it 
bore  tourists  and  other  conventional  folk  toward 
the  well-ordered  ways  of  the  Hotel  de  Wagon 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  189 

Lits  of  Peking.  Had  we  not  known  our  Oriental 
world,  we  might  have  mistrusted  the  way  we 
were  taking;  but  we  knew  we  had  only  to  drop 
from  the  train  at  any  wayside  station  and  the 
world  of  convention  would  be  utterly  gone.  This 
we  did,  knowing  that  a  pilgrim  must  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  luxury.  For  him,  the  haz- 
ards of  the  road,  the  ache  and  sweat  of  the 
journey. 

We  took  our  chance  that  night  with  native 
wayfarers,  stopping  with  them  at  a  wayside 
inn.  We  might  have  been  a  thousand,  thousand 
leagues  away  from  the  great  Hotel  de  Wagon 
Lits  instead  of  a  few  miles.  Not  one  little  evi- 
dence of  the  western  world  had  crept  into  this 
ancient  inn.  It  was  the  usual  inn  of  northern 
China.  Out  on  the  frontier  we  had  spent  many 
a  night  in  faithful  replicas  of  this  old  structure, 
but  how  different  did  it  all  seem  to  us  now — no 
material  gain  brought  us  here,  only  that  sublimely 
foolish  call  of  the  wayfarers  of  the  world,  a  call 
with  no  justification  except  itself. 

In  came  settlers  and  ne'er-do-wells  upon  the 
road  and  yes,  at  last,  here  was  the  sign  for  which 


190     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

we  were  looking  and  for  which  we  had  begun  to 
despair:  through  the  inn  doorway  came  a  group 
of  pilgrims,  their  knapsacks  upon  their  backs. 
Now  did  we  rest  content;  we  were  in  time  for 
the  yearly  migration  templeward  for  which  there 
is  no  appointed  time — only  the  proddings  of  fear, 
vagrancy,  and  worship  that  come  in  the  Orient, 
in  some  unaccountable  way,  with  the  spring  air. 

As  there  is  no  caste  in  China  the  well-to-do 
settler  left  his  cart  in  the  court,  the  ne'er-do-well 
left  his  staff  and  his  ragged  bundle  on  the  dirt 
floor  of  the  inn,  the  pilgrim  put  his  knapsack 
with  its  offering  to  the  gods  in  a  safe  corner, 
and  all  sat  down  to  eat  the  humble  food  of  the 
inn  and  then  lay  down  on  the  k'angs  to  sleep, 
until  dawn  should  call  each  one  about  his  own 
business. 

Like  true,  zealous  pilgrims  who  must  know 
nothing  of  soft  pamperings,  we  also  were  up  with 
the  very  first  light  of  the  spring  morning.  The 
green  shimmer  over  the  earth,  on  which  we  had 
had  to  shut  our  eyes  the  night  before,  was  still 
there.  It  had  seemed  such  a  magic  thing  that  we 
were  really  fearful  it  might  disappear  in  the 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  191 

night;  and  lo,  as  we  started  along  the  road,  we 
found  we  had  caught  the  world  in  its  pilgrim 
mood.  Oftener  and  oftener  we  caught — ahead 
of  us — the  flare  of  the  yellow  knapsacks.  We  be- 
gan meeting  silent,  ascetic  pilgrims,  journeying  by 
themselves;  adventurous  pilgrims,  speaking  not 
the  dialect  of  that  province;  social  pilgrims,  jour- 
neying with  their  fellow  villager.  Once  as  we 
entered  a  village,  all  the  able-bodied  of  the  town 
were  just  about  to  start — all  dressed  in  new  blue 
homespun  and  fresh,  creaking  sandals  of  straw. 
So  did  our  secret  inner  aspirations  take  material 
form  in  the  marching  pilgrims;  and  our  pil- 
grimage came  to  seem  the  most  natural  thing  to 
do  in  all  the  world — in  the  spring  time. 

The  sun  rose  higher,  grew  hotter.  Tired  pil- 
grims lagged  behind;  the  worn  and  less  eager 
ones  stopped  under  the  inviting  evergreen  bough 
awnings  in  front  of  the  wayside  tea  shops  to 
drink  of  the  sweet-smelling  tea.  The  pot-bellied 
teakettles,  half  as  big  as  their  masters,  looked 
most  enticing,  steaming  and  hissing  there  in  the 
sunshine,  but  we  refused  their  invitation  and  kept 
on  our  way  in  our  stout  cart;  eager  we  were  for 


192     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

the  first  glimpse  of  the  great  and  mysterious  city 
of  Peking,  for  the  hills  beyond  and  .  .  .  for 
the  temple,  our  final  goal.  On,  and  on,  and  on, 
we  journeyed  in  that  slow-moving  cart.  And 
now  as  we  neared  the  greatest  city  of  the  empire 
the  way  became  thronged  with  a  motley  array: 

"  Richman,  poorman,  beggarman,  thief, 
Doctor,  lawyer,  merchant,  chief" 

all  jostled  each  other  on  the  democratic  road. 

When  the  city  finally  took  shape  ahead  of 
us  it  was  but  an  intangible  wraith.  A  great, 
enveloping  dust  storm  of  the  north  was  devour- 
ing the  earth;  red  dust  lay  over  the  gray  dust 
of  the  road  and  over  the  travelers  that  crowded 
the  way.  It  swirled  in  the  air,  a  whirling  red 
mist  out  of  which  the  parapeted  walls,  watch- 
towers  and  gates  of  the  city  arose  as  a  vision 
in  a  dream,  unsubstantial,  ethereal.  Only  a 
little  less  unreal  looked  the  travelers  who  had 
shrouded  themselves  from  the  fury  of  the  air. 
Gone  was  our  gay,  tangible  world  of  the  morn- 
ing; in  its  place  was  a  world  made  up  of  the 
illusions  of  dreams. 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  193 

Unknowingly  we  were  almost  upon  the  outer 
gate,  when  suddenly  it  loomed  above  us  out  of 
the  enveloping  mist,  a  thing  very  real  and  solid. 
For  a  moment  we  were  well-nigh  overpowered 
by  the  sights  and  sounds  that  came  surging  in 
upon  us,  sweeping  from  our  minds  everything 
except  half-forgotten  memories  of  the  years  we 
had  spent  in  this  city  which  called  us  now  to 
its  life.  But  we  would  not  be  tempted  away  from 
our  pilgrimage.  This  time,  O  gay  imperial 
city,  you  are  to  be  only  a  wayside  stopping-place 
on  the  road  of  a  greater  adventure.  Thus 
minded,  we  passed  through  the  first  gate  and  on 
to  the  broad  highway  that  led  to  the  gate  in  the 
second  wall. 

The  wind  began  dying  away,  leaving  the  red 
dust  to  settle  thickly  over  the  gray  dust;  and 
except  where  the  feet  of  animals  and  men  stirred 
it  anew,  the  air  became  clear  and  clean.  And 
the  most  beautiful  thing  in  all  the  clean,  blue  sky 
was  the  blue  dome  of  the  Temple  of  Heaven, 
rising  in  stately  fashion  above  the  mean  little 
houses  and  huts  of  the  outer  city.  Thus  did  we 
begin  to  forget  the  gay  call  of  the  city's  life 


194    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

in    this    first   majestic    evidence    of    the    city*s 
aspirations. 

In  time,  we  reached  the  great,  the  historic 
'  Chen  Men,'  which  after  the  manner  of  our 
speaking  is  the  front  gate,  and  from  there  we 
zigzagged  west  across  another  city,  for  Peking 
means  city  within  city.  By  and  by,  we  came 
upon  the  Forbidden  City,  which,  with  its  yellow 
walls,  looks  like  the  golden  heart  of  gray-roofed, 
gray-walled  Peking.  Passing  in  its  shadow,  we 
saw,  not  far  from  us,  in  the  last  twilight,  a 
ruined  mosque.  This  was  faith  after  faith  rising 
up  along  our  pilgrim  path  to  attend  us  upon 
our  way.  Small  temples  seemed  now  to  spring 
from  the  ground — and  wayside  shrines.  Strange, 
crude  gods  looked  out  at  us  from  the  crude  altars. 
But  with  the  dust  of  the  road  upon  us  and  the 
ache  and  sweat  of  travel  made  only  for  the  sake 
of  a  pilgrimage,  we  walked  softly  before  them 
all,  seeing  in  each  one  the  vague  cravings  of 
some  soul.  And  still  we  kept  on  and  still  the 
notes  of  unnumbered  strivings  rose  around  us, 
until  every  other  appeal  of  the  greatest  city  of 
the  empire  was  drowned  in  this  eternal  cry  of 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  195 

the  seeker.  And  still  we  kept  on  towards  the 
west,  until  just  before  the  hour  of  their  closing, 
we  had  passed  through  the  outermost  gate  of 
the  outermost  wall;  only  then  did  we  stop.  In 
a  great  inn  we  waited  with  other  pilgrims,  waited 
for  the  new  day  when  we  would  journey  up  into 
the  hills  to  our  great  goal. 

Heigh-ho !  Into  the  hours  of  one  day  we  were 
going  to  press  so  much  of  joyous  vagabondage 
that  the  like  should  not  be  known  outside  the 
East.  This  was  our  mood  when  we  woke  next 
morning.  Sunlight  and  spring  owned  the  earth 
and  new  life  crowded  upwards;  fear,  vagrancy, 
and  worship  claimed  the  people  and  they  crowded 
templeward;  there  was  no  doubt  that  pure  va- 
grancy possessed  us  and  we  were  ready  to  follow 
any  lead  that  took  us  along  the  open  way. 
"  What  ho !  "  we  cried  to  the  day  as  we  looked 
to  the  east  and  caught  the  sun  full  in  our  faces, 
for  it  stood  no  higher  than  a  man*s  head  when 
we  first  emerged  from  the  inn  doorway  in  search 
of  donkeys.  "  What  ho ! "  we  cried  to  all  the 
joyous,  vagrant  activity  that  filled  the  courtyard 
like  a  tempest  in  a  teapot.     Would-be  renters 


196    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

of  their  animals  placed  their  wares  straight  in 
the  way  of  possible  patrons;  outgoing  pilgrims 
stumbled  over  the  leading  straps  of  donkeys,  de- 
signedly blocking  the  inn  gateway.  Irate  would- 
be  passengers  shouted  their  protest  of  high 
prices;  suave  owners  shouted,  unshamefacedly, 
the  superior  value  of  many  an  obviously  decrepit 
animal.  "  Into  the  fray,"  we  shouted  at  each 
other  above  the  tumult,  and  laughed  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  joined  the  bargaining  throng. 
But  the  sun  stood  far  above  the  level  of  our 
eyes  and  the  courtyard  noise  was  thinning  a 
little,  when  our  bargain  was  finally  finished,  and 
we  at  last  rode  forth  and  faced  to  the  west.  The 
wide  expanse  of  the  Peking  plain  lay  before  us 
with  a  line  of  pilgrims  filing  across  it,  pointing 
the  way  to  the  great  goal.  On  until  the  plain 
disappeared  into  the  horizon  they  trailed,  with 
the  sun  shining  upon  the  offerings  upon  their 
backs  as  they  journeyed  due  west.  On  either 
side  the  plain  swept  away  clean  and*  fresh; 
around  the  wayfarers  riding  on  donkeys,  in  carts, 
in  chairs,  traveling  on  foot,  there  billowed  an 
ever-increasing  cloud  of  dust. 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  197 

With  much  pulling  on  our  own  part  and  much 
whacking  and  shouting  on  the  part  of  our  donkey 
boys,  we  managed  to  get  our  donkeys  into  the 
tail  of  the  procession.  But  when  we  had  time 
to  look  behind,  we  were  no  longer  at  the  end 
of  the  marching  throng.  From  where  had  they 
all  come?  Winding  and  curving  behind  us  was 
a  momentarily  growing  line  of  more  donkeys, 
more  chairs,  more  carts,  more  foot  pilgrims. 
The  day's  journey  had  surely  begun ! 

We  were  soon  aware  that  we  had  chosen  too 
well  our  beasts  of  burden.  Many  a  worn-out 
hack  of  a  donkey,  once  behind  us  in  the  line, 
albeit  plodding  faithfully  upon  the  way,  later  we 
saw  far  ahead  of  us.  Our  alert,  sleek-looking 
animals  were  in  possession  of  seven  road  demons 
apiece :  sometimes  they  darted  from  the  way  and 
when  we  had  them  in  hand  again  they  were  far 
down  the  ranks;  sometimes  they  kicked  madly  in 
the  face  of  other  donkeys,  and  we  were  forced 
out  of  very  necessity  to  drive  them  forth,  and 
again  we  lost  ground.  As  often  before,  the  fate- 
ful quality  of  the  westerner  was  our  undoing. 
Would  we  ever  learn  that  in  the  East  the  snail 


198    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

always  wins  over  the  tortoise?  After  all,  it  was 
only  the  unreasoned  instinct  of  the  westerner 
which  had  caused  us  at  starting  to  hunt  out  the 
animals  who  looked  the  fleetest.  In  fact,  we 
found  that  we  were  curiously  loath  to  hurry 
now  that  we  were  on  the  last  stage  of  this  new 
trail,  the  pilgrim  trail.  For  to-day  the  dust- 
clouded  road,  the  noise  of  the  throngs,  the  thrill 
of  the  pilgrimage. 

It  was  long  after  noon  when  we  heard  the  end 
of  that  fifteen-mile  plain  of  sun  and  dust.  Ahead 
of  us,  we  saw  the  shadows  among  the  hills. 
Eagerly  now  we  pushed  our  donkeys  forward. 
We  wanted  rest  from  the  glaring  sun,  from  the 
careering  donkeys,  from  the  teeming  life — a  little 
cessation  from  all  those  sensations  which  seemed 
now  to  have  beat  upon  our  brains  for  an  endless 
time.  Then  we  were  at  the  gap  in  the  hills  and 
winding  in  and  out  in  the  narrow  valleys.  Cool 
shadows  were  about  us,  the  throng  could  only 
partially  be  seen  in  the  twisting  valleys,  and  the 
noise  was  sometimes  hushed  in  the  folds  of  the 
hills. 

We  came  to  a  low  stone  wall  t}iat  held  back 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  199 

the  hills  from  disintegrating  down  on  the  stone 
flagging  of  the  path.  Dismissing  our  donkeys 
and  donkey  boys,  we  scrambled  part  way  up  the 
hillside,  away  from  the  unceasing  travel  of  the 
pilgrim-path;  and  under  some  persimmon  trees 
we  ate  and  drank  and  then  lay  down  and  looked 
up  through  the  persimmon  branches  to  the 
brooding  presence  of  the  pine-covered  slopes 
above  us.  An  unaccountable  mood  of  waiting — 
akin  to  the  mood  of  the  morning  when  we  were 
curiously  loath  to  hurry — descended  upon  us 
.  .  .  and  we  waited.  Just  why,  we  neither 
knew  nor  cared  to  discover.  All  we  desired 
was  to  catch  and  hold  a  tantalizingly  elu- 
sive far-away  existence  that  haunted  our 
memories. 

How  often  since  we  came  to  pioneer  in  this 
age-old  civilization  had  we  lived  again  the  life  of 
our  ancestors!  Over  and  over  had  we  linked 
our  little,  isolated  lives  with  the  past:  there  was 
that  unforgettable  day  when  we  journeyed  to- 
wards Hulanho  and  a  wild,  sweet  spirit  took 
possession  of  us,  the  spirit  of  the  wanderer's 
life    rightly    inherited    by    us    from    the    days 


200    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

when  all  the  earth  roamed;  there  was  that  well- 
remembered  night  when  our  first  cabin  was 
finished  and  we  had  seen  the  vision  of  the 
pioneer  settlers  of  the  earth.  Now  the  occasional 
smell  of  incense,  the  vague  odor  of  the  toiling 
crowd,  the  glimpses  of  the  pilgrims*  staffs  and 
knapsacks,  the  distant  sound  of  the  deep-toned 
temple-bells,  brought  to  our  half -a  wake  brains 
strange  and  but  partially  comprehended  visions 
of  ourselves  in  the  beginnings  of  strivings  in  our 
race;  half-remembered  journeys  to  Druid  woods, 
half -real  feelings  of  fear  in  worship  mingled 
with  our  spirit  of  vagrancy  as  we  lay  there  under 
the  persimmon  trees. 

It  grew  late  enough  so  that  a  chill  crept  into 
the  spring  afternoon,  and  the  crowds  began  re- 
turning with  empty  knapsacks.  First  they  were 
an  interminable  line,  filing  past;  then  the  line 
grew  thinner;  then  there  were  long  breaks  in  it; 
then  there  were  only  a  straggling  few  of  the 
old  and  lame,  passing  by.  We  put  on  our  coats 
to  shut  out  the  chill,  but  yet  we  lingered.  Night 
came  and  utter  stillness  in  the  valleys;  and  still 
we  did  not  finish  our  pilgrimage  to  the  temple 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  201 

of  Tan  Chou  Ssu  that  stood  some  twb  hours' 
climb  above  us  in  the  hills.  We  were  obeying 
some  inner  voice  that  spoke  from  that  far-away 
past  which  had  haunted  our  memories  all  through 
the  pilgrim-thronged  afternoon. 

But  after  a  time,  when  the  young  crescent  moon 
threw  a  very  little  light  over  the  hillsides  among 
the  dark  fir  trees,  that  something  bade  us  start. 
And  we  climbed  among  the  firs.  We  reached  the 
arched  gateway  and  passed  through  it;  we 
reached  the  temple  inclosure,  and  slipping  a  little 
money  into  the  hands  of  the  gate-keeper,  passed 
on.  The  temple,  with  its  roof  like  a  sagging 
tent  cloth,  stood  vaguely  against  the  sky;  within 
we  saw  the  smoky  flare  of  the  ever-burning  light 
before  the  great  Buddha.  The  cauldrons  smoked 
with  the  weight  of  the  paper  money  cast  into 
them  by  the  many  pilgrims.  A  strange  spirit 
that  we  did  not  understand  seemed  brooding  over 
things  there.  Hand  in  hand  we  stole  up  the 
marble  steps  to  the  temple. 

The  silent  night,  the  mysterious  temple,  our 
tense  selves  all  were  prescient  with  the  same  dark 
stirrings.     Wild,  heretofore  unguessed  longings 


202    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

within  us,  surged  against  the  strongholds  of  our 
civiHzation.  We  leaned  against  one  of  the  giant 
wood  pillars  of  the  temple  veranda  waiting  for 
something. 

Then  it  came, — the  wild,  emotional  worship  of 
long  ago  ages,  springing  into  ominous  life  right 
there  before  our  eyes.  Lights  flared  on  the  altar, 
priests  stepped  out  of  the  darkness.  From  the 
two  sides  of  the  temple  veranda,  long  lines  of 
them  uncoiled,  and  uncoiled.  Faster,  faster,  they 
moved,  their  feet  patting  the  stone-paved  way. 
They  brushed  us  as  they  swept  quickly  along. 
Their  rosaries  clicked.  They  chanted  a  slow, 
low  chant.  Moving,  chanting,  swaying — they 
crowded  upon  each  other.  The  silent,  vaulted 
temple  changed  in  one  moment  into  a  seething 
mass  of  emotion-gripped,  swaying,  chanting, 
moving  frenzies,  its  air  rent  asunder  with  the 
Tibetan  chant  of  fear  and  superstition,  rising 
faster  and  louder,  faster  and  louder,  faster  and 
louder!  We  clung  to  the  pillars,  frantic  to 
protect  ourselves  against  the  onsweeping  forces 
that  pelted  us  like  a  torrent  of  wind  and  rain 
and  hail;  but  it  was  useless.     As  it  beat  upon 


Out  of  which  the  parapeted  walls  of  the  city  rose  as  a  vision 
in  a  dream,  unsubstantial,  ethereal. 

[page  192] 


We  reached  the  arched  gate-way  and  passed  through  it. 

[page  20i; 


^■■■■^ 


Back  to  Old  Cathay  203 

us,  the  left-over  fears  of  our  ancestors  in  un- 
known gods,  gripped  us ! 

Long  afterwards  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
quiet  night  with  the  quiet  stars  above  us  and 
the  still  earth  beneath  our  feet.  We  were  back 
from  a  very  long  pilgrimage,  a  long,  long  pil- 
grimage to  the  cloudy  beginnings  of  the  spirit. 
We  had  journeyed  to  the  throbbing  heart  of  a 
civilization  almost  as  old  as  time.  In  so  doing, 
we  had  uncovered  in  ourselves  the  memory  of 
our  own  race's  beginnings,  its  superstitions,  its 
fear-driven  strivings  towards  the  mysteries  of 
the  spirit.  We  had  that  night  made  another  link 
with  the  past,  united  our  isolated  strivings  with 
those  of  the  ages.  That  was  the  long,  long 
pilgrimage. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SUMMER  RAINS  AGAIN  AND  OTHER  KNOWL- 
EDGE WHICH  THEY  BRING 

But  Nature  whistled  with  all  her  winds, 
Did  as  she  pleased  and  went  her  way. 

— Emerson. 

The  summer  rains  are  over.  With  their  go- 
ing, although  it  is  August,  this  short  northern 
summer  seems  to  be  over.  The  days  in  some 
mysterious  way  have  grown  suddenly  cooler; 
there  is  the  feeling  that  there  is  wine  in  the 
air — and  the  nights  are  chilly.  But  the  real, 
unmistakable  sign  we  find  in  those  marvelously 
white  clouds,  peculiar  to  the  Manchurian  autumn, 
that  now  billow  up  from  the  south,  those  clouds 
which  hold  no  rain.  I  woke  this  morning  to 
find — after  weeks  of  rainy  mornings — the  sun- 
shine streaming  across  my  bed;  it  is  brilliant 
sunshine,  healing  sunshine  that  blesses  you  to 
your  heart's  core.  In  the  autumn  the  gods  pour 
204 


Summer  Rains  Again  20^ 

it  steadfastly  hour  after  hour  over  this  northern 
country. 

We  started  to  prepare  for  one  of  the  numerous 
short  trips  which  make  up  the  life  of  many  a 
trader.  It  would  undoubtedly  be  one  of  those 
innumerable,  uneventful  journeys  which  often 
took  us  in  zigzag  paths  across  the  near-by  coun- 
try, a  journey  without  event — except  the  autumn 
loveliness.  We  took  the  fewest  of  supplies,  for 
we  expected  to  be  gone  but  a  short  time. 

Two  days  passed  in  this  uneventful  quiet; 
contentment  ruled  our  spirits — we  were  driving 
again  over  the  plains  with  their  brown  mud 
dwellings,  villages,  and  their  big  shocks  of 
kaoliang  which,  with  their  reddish-brown  tips, 
looked  like  a  company  of  knights  arrayed  in 
gorgeous  plumage.  Everything  was  just  as  it 
had  been  every  autumn  since  we  first  came  to 
Manchuria.  The  autumn  weather  seemed  as 
steadfast  as  the  steadiest  of  country  yeomen. 

In  the  usual  fashion  we  had  reached  the  first 
of  our  stops  and  in  the  usual  fashion  passed  on. 
This  third  day  opened  as  brilliantly  as  any  of 
the  fall  days  that  seemed  already  to  have  become 


2o6     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

a  habit,  although  the  summer  rains  which  this 
year  had  turned  into  floods  were  such  a  short 
distance  in  the  past.  But  gradually  the  bril- 
liancy changed  into  the  soft  haze  which  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  fall  at  home  in  America.  It 
made  me  think  of  home  and  I  became  reminis- 
cent. For  once  my  mind  and  heart  were  far 
from  the  trail. 

Into  these  dreamy  memories  of  mine  spoke 
my  husband,  who  for  a  long  time  had  been 
staring  at  the  sky.  "  I  guess  we  are  in  for  it.'* 
I  leaned  forward  to  look  beyond  the  blue  cloth 
awning  which  the  old  carter  had  erected  over  the 
mules;  even  as  I  looked  the  first  sprinkle  fell. 
Now  if  there  was  one  thing  above  another  to  be 
regarded  as  serious  when  off  on  a  trip  it  was 
the  summer  rains.  If  these  sprinkles  meant  that 
the  summer  rains  were  not  over  then  heaven  help 
us.  The  rains  this  year  being  particularly  heavy, 
whole  villages  had  been  washed  away.  If  there 
were  to  be  any  such  violent  downfall  as  we 
had  reason  to  expect  from  the  season's  record, 
the  roads  in  a  few  hours  would  be  impassable 
bogs  and  the  numerous  small  streams  which  we 


Summer  Rains  Again  207 

had  been  fording  would,  with  miraculous  speed, 
turn  into  deep  and  dangerous  rivers.  Now  these 
streams  lay  behind  us  and  they  lay  ahead  of  us! 
In  either  direction  the  inns  were  a  number  of 
hours  away,  but  the  one  ahead,  the  carter  said, 
was  a  little  nearer  than  the  one  behind,  so  we 
concluded  to  keep  on.  We  were  becoming  inured 
to  danger;  we  had  long  ago  concluded  that  we 
lived  charmed  lives,  for  a  really  disastrous  ac- 
cident had  never  befallen  us.  So  quickly  organ- 
izing our  forces  so  as  to  make  our  strength  as 
great  as  possible,  we  moved  on.  The  mules  of 
the  boy*s  cart  were  faster  than  those  of  ours  so 
we  called  to  them  to  go  ahead.  Then  we  shouted 
to  our  deaf  carter  to  keep  up.  Thus  we  hoped 
to  spur  our  animals  to  greater  haste.  Whatever 
happened  we  must  get  to  an  inn;  what  might 
befall  us  after  that  we  did  not  dwell  upon.  We 
knew  we  had  few  enough  provisions  if  we 
should  be  marooned,  but  that  difficulty  was  for 
the  future. 

The  sky  grew  more  overcast  every  moment. 
In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  rain  was  falling  in 
the  relentless  fashion  it  had  in  the  rainy  season. 


2o8     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

Travel  became  more  difficult.  What  a  half-hour 
before  had  been  thick  dust,  was  now  sticky  mud, 
deepening  with  surprising  rapidity.  We  began 
making  large  digressions  from  the  worn-down 
track  that  answered  for  a  road — digressions  that 
took  us  far  into  the  fields.  We  must  avoid  the 
catastrophe  of  getting  mired  in  a  mud  hole. 
Even  in  the  streets  of  the  port-towns  of  Man- 
churia mules  had  been  drowned.  Should  we 
lose  a  mule  in  such  a  bog  things  would  be  well- 
nigh  hopeless  for  us.  The  rest  of  the  animals 
could  not  meet  the  extra  strain  of  the  carts. 
The  rain  was  now  coming  down  in  torrents  and 
the  carters  tried  to  drive  haphazard  through  any 
and  every  bog,  and  we  had  difficulty  in  making 
them  take  the  longer  but  safer  course  through  the 
fields.  My  husband,  the  boy,  and  the  carters  were 
all  walking  in  order  to  make  the  carts  as  light 
as  possible.  Later  I,  too,  would  have  to  get  out, 
but  I  was  to  save  my  strength  until  the  end, 
for  the  walking  in  the  mud  was  a  prodigious 
task. 

Just  then  we  came  to  the  inevitable  stream; 
but  a  stream  it  no  longer  was.     The  last  time 


Summer  Rains  Again  209 

we  had  crossed  it,  not  two  hours  before,  it  had 
been  a  harmless  little  thing;  now  its  waters  were 
nearly  up  to  the  hubs  of  our  cart-wheels  and  the 
current  was  very  strong.  But  the  mules  were 
sure-footed  creatures  and  that  difficulty  was  soon 
over. 

Catastrophe  awaited  us  on  the  other  side !  My 
husband  had  run  ahead  to  see  that  the  other  cart 
drove  out  into  the  field  to  avoid  a  particularly 
evil-looking  place  in  the  road.  He  expected  us 
to  follow.  Suddenly  I  felt  a  sensation  of  sinking 
and  almost  before  we  knew  it,  our  mules  were 
half-buried  in  the  bog.  Our  old  carter  had 
decided  to  run  the  chance  of  the  evil-looking 
place;  and  as  my  husband's  back  was  turned,  he 
had  succeeded  in  taking  his  chance  and  here  we 
were  to  all  appearances  hopelessly  stuck.  The 
carter  whipped  frantically  at  his  floundering 
animals.  All  he  saw  was  to  make  them  get  out 
by  brute  force.  "  Stop ! "  cried  my  husband, 
"they'll  break  their  legs."  Whipping  was  use- 
less; it  was  evident  that  they  could  not  get  out 
with  the  weight  of  the  cart,  the  boxes  on  the 
back  and  with  me  within.     But  there  was  no 


2IO    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

way  to  get  either  the  boxes  or  me  across  the 
sea  of  mud.  Meanwhile  the  wind  was  rising  and 
the  rain  increasing. 

The  carters  and  the  boy  and  my  husband  strode 
about  examining  us  from  every  side.  Finally 
they  agreed  we  had  a  chance  of  getting  the  mules 
out  whole  if  they  relieved  them  of  the  extra 
weight  of  the  cart.  "We'll  have  to  unharness 
the  mules  and  get  them  out  and  then  attach  long 
ropes  to  the  cart  and  put  the  other  mules  on 
high  ground  and  pull  the  cart  out  backwards,'* 
explained  my  husband.  "  Are  you  all  right  ?  '* 
he  asked  anxiously.  I  confess  I  was  not  alto- 
gether enjoying  my  predicament  but  I  managed 
to  answer  with  a  fair  degree  of  cheerfulness;  I 
knew  that  there  was  no  time  to  waste  in  con- 
soling me.  By  dint  of  many  instructions  from 
the  shore  I  managed  to  unfasten  that  mysterious 
Oriental  harness  of  string  and  whatnot.  Then 
the  carter's  long  whips  reached  out  from  the  high 
ground  and  stung  the  mules  unmercifully.  The 
mules  were  now  so  tired  with  their  struggles  that 
one  had  already  attempted  to  lie  down;  nothing 
but  a  stinging  blow  would  ever  get  them  out. 


Summer  Rains  Again  211 

Time  after  time  they  went  down  on  their  knees 
and  stood  every  chance  of  breaking  their  legs, 
but  the  whips  continued  to  goad  them  on  and 
at  last  in  a  super-struggle — without  a  broken  leg 
— they  stumbled  onto  the  comparatively  firm 
ground  beyond.  Our  luck,  which  we  had  come 
to  depend  upon  to  carry  us  through  catastrophe, 
was  holding. 

They  were  now  ready  for  the  cart  and  me. 
After  many  trials,  they  managed  to  get  ropes 
around  the  body  of  the  cart  and  the  fresher  mules 
of  the  other  team  fastened  to  the  other  end  of 
the  ropes.  Again  the  beating  began.  I  clung  to 
the  sides  of  the  cart  as  it  tipped  dangerously  one 
way  and  another.  I  could  just  see  my  husband*s 
face  peering  at  me  anxiously  from  above.  Sud- 
denly the  shafts  went  free  of  the  mud  and  sent 
the  back  of  the  cart  down  and  the  mud  oozed 
in  from  behind.  Then  the  shafts  went  down 
again  as  the  cart  struck  higher  ground  and  I 
was  thrown  forward.  All  I  prayed  for  was  that 
the  cart  should  not  go  over  on  its  side. 

"  You're  most  out ! ''  cried  my  husband  en- 
couragingly   from    somewhere   above   me — and 


212     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

wabbling  and  rocking  the  cart  stopped.    We  were 
out  of  the  mud  hole ! 

We  had  been  some  two  hours  in  the  puddle 
and  the  precious  daylight  which  one  so  much 
needed  in  any  predicament  on  the  road,  was 
nearly  gone.  There  was  at  least  one  more  stream 
to  cross  before  we  reached  the  inn;  and  when 
night  actually  came  we  should  not  be  able  to  see 
a  hand's  breadth  in  front  of  us!  We  had  little 
but  the  thought  of  our  luck  to  cheer  us  on.  No 
one  spoke  as  we  plodded  along;  there  was, 
occasionally,  the  very  sharp  cry  of  one  of  the 
drivers,  warning  the  mules  of  danger  ahead. 
For  the  time  being  the  carters  had  learned  their 
lesson  and  were  the  personification  of  discretion. 
But  we  did  not  come  to  the  stream.  Every  step 
my  feet  weighed  a  little  more;  I  felt  that  I  was 
attempting  to  move  mountains.  But  still  no 
stream  appeared.  A  more  grim  determination 
was  necessary  every  minute,  in  order  to  keep 
going  at  all.  By  this  time  I  could  just  see  my 
husband  plodding  ahead  of  me.  The  water  ran 
in  rivulets  from  his  cap  and  he,  too,  I  saw  was 
moving  with  difficulty. 


Summer  Rains  Again  213 

As  the  darkness  was  getting  too  thick  to 
see  objects,  even  as  near  as  my  plodding 
husband,  we  heard  the  rush  of  waters  above 
the  sound  of  the  rain.  It  was  the  stream — but 
swollen  to  formidable  proportions.  We  dared 
not  think  of  the  odds  in  getting  across — in  fact 
all  the  odds  seemed  against  us  and  none  for  us. 
The  depth  of  the  waters  was  an  uncertainty, 
the  current  was  swift,  the  mules  were  exhausted, 
and  it  was  getting  darker  every  minute.  Per- 
haps the  growing  darkness  was  a  little  bit  for- 
tunate, for  it  gave  us  no  time  to  meditate  on  the 
chances  we  were  taking.  We  all  got  aboard  the 
carts — our  weight  had  to  be  added  to  the  weight 
of  the  carts  in  getting  across  the  stream — and  we 
drove  down  into  the  boiling  stream.  We  were 
all  crouching  on  the  narrow  space  in  the  front 
of  the  cart,  steadying  ourselves  with  one  hand 
and  with  the  other  steadying  our  boxes — which 
we  had  of  necessity  placed  inside  the  cart  to  keep  ' 
them  out  of  the  water.  At  every  step  of  the 
mules,  the  water  rose  higher  and  higher  around 
us.  It  was  up  to  the  hubs  ...  a  step  farther 
— it  was  nearly  up  to  the  cart's  bottom.     The 


214     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

water  swept  past  up  so  rapidly  that  it  gave  us 
the  illusion  that  we  were  being  carried  down 
stream  with  it.  The  boxes  put  so  hastily  inside 
the  cart,  threatened  to  topple  over  on  us.  At 
least  they  took  our  attention  from  the  moving 
torrents  so  very  near  us.  Anything  to  forget 
that  the  mules  might  lose  their  footing  in  a 
treacherous  hole,  or  the  water  prove  too  deep 
for  them !  The  water  ran  in  a  thin  stream  over 
the  cart's  bottom.  Then  it  began  to  go  down. 
We  had  passed  the  deepest  point.  So  we  were 
straining  up  the  bank  and  another  danger  was 
over.  It  was  not  far  to  the  inn,  they  told  us. 
But  as  we  went  farther  away  from  the  sound 
of  the  waters  we  seemed  to  be  getting  nearer  the 
sound  again.  Was  it  possible  that  there  was 
another  crossing  of  that  stream  which  in  true 
Oriental  fashion  the  carters  had  neglected  to 
mention?  After  a  time  we  could  see  a  few 
blurred  lights.  The  village  was  not  far  away 
but  the  sound  of  rushing  waters  had  grown 
louder.  That  swollen  stream  did  indeed  lie 
between  us  and  our  inn.  As  it  was  so  near  to 
the  village,  the  carters  had  not  mentioned  it! 


Summer  Rains  Again  215 

The  village  did  indeed  lie  just  on  the  other  side 
but  in  reality  how  far  away  it  was  with  those 
waters  separating  us  from  it.  The  night,  since 
our  last  crossing,  had  grown  pitch  black  and  the 
river  was  a  moving  blackness.  It  was  bad  enough 
to  cross  the  river  in  the  half-darkness  of  the 
last  crossing,  but  in  this  utter  darkness  the  river 
seemed  some  monster,  rushing  at  us  to  devour 
us.  It  was  so  unknowable  there  in  the  darkness 
— that  was  the  worst  of  it;  it  left  too  much  to 
one*s  imagination.  Nothing  seems  quite  so 
mysteriously  awful  as  black  waters  and  I  shud- 
dered to  think  of  going  down  into  them. 

But  the  carters,  after  running  along  the  bank 
and  listening  and  shouting  to  some  villagers  on 
the  other  side,  assured  us  that  the  crossing  could 
be  done.  So  down  into  those  black  waters  we 
drove,  straining  our  eyes  to  see  the  vague  moving 
of  the  vague  black  mass  below  us,  listening  to 
the  torrent  of  sound.  But  above  this  sound  came 
a  strong  and  victorious  splash  as  the  mules 
met  and  conquered  the  stream.  To  that  sound 
we  clung,  the  sound  of  the  mules  plowing  on, 
meeting  and  conquering  the  waters.    And  for  the 


2i6    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

final  time  that  evening,  we  passed  the  deepest 
place  in  the  river  and  the  mules  were  plodding 
doggedly  up  the  last  embankment.  At  the  top 
they  stood  still;  their  heads  nearly  touched  the 
ground  and  the  rain  and  the  sweat  ran  from 
them.  They  were  nearly  spent.  But  good  old 
animals,  they  had  done  their  task. 

iThe  wind  blew  from  every  direction — we 
were  evidently  having  a  typhoon.  Our  own 
bodies  were  almost  too  heavy  to  carry  in  our 
soaked  clothes  and  the  wind  buffeted  us  and  the 
rain  beat  on  us.  Our  feet  we  lifted,  seemingly, 
by  some  supernatural  force.  But  spent  mules 
and  spent  humans,  we  all  at  last  reached  the  inn 
inclosure.  And  we  thought  of  the  hard-pressed 
ships  at  sea  on  a  night  like  this. 

The  inn  turned  out  to  be  the  rudest  of  country 
huts  but  we  cheerfully  accepted  its  limitations 
until  we  opened  our  foodbox  with  its  scanty 
supplies  and  discovered  that  in  some  way  the 
cover  had  come  off  our  baking  powder  tin  and 
the  baking  powder  was  soaked  and  past  any 
possible  usefulness.  It  was  all  very  well  to  be 
philosophical  over  the  loss  of  supplies  when  we 


Summer  Rains  Again  217 

were  in  the  midst  of  a  thrilling  adventure,  but  the 
sight  of  that  water-logged  baking  powder  in  the 
light  of  an  indefinite  number  of  days  to  be  spent 
in  this  wretched  inn  was  too  much.  We  ate  our 
supper  in  silence ;  we  crawled  under  our  blankets 
in  silence  and  never  so  much  as  gave  one  thought 
to  our  luck  in  extricating  ourselves  from  the  bog. 
We  did  not  even,  like  proper  happy-go-lucky 
vagabonds,  thank  our  little  god  of  luck  for  our 
safe  crossing  of  the  swollen  streams.  We  fell 
asleep  thinking  of  the  baking  powder. 

"It's  leaking  in  a  new  place,"  I  was  saying 
when,  with  my  head  thrown  back  to  survey  the 
roof  of  the  inn,  the  drip-drop  of  the  water  fell 
warm  and  wet  in  my  face. 

"  Abandon  your  position,"  responded  my  hus- 
band as  he  surveyed  a  third  pool  growing  into 
alarming  proportions  on  the  matting  of  the  k'ang 
where  we  were  sitting.  I  came  and  squatted  by 
his  side  with  my  back  against  the  somewhat  damp 
wall. 

This  was  the  seventh  day  that  we  had  been 
shut  away  in  the  inn  and  the  great  sheets  of 


2i8    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

Manchurian  rain  had  been  gradually  conquering 
our  rude  shelter.  Already  the  heavy  thatch  of 
the  roof  had  turned  into  a  sodden  mass  that  let 
the  water  in  in  numberless  places  all  over  the 
room;  the  earth  floor  was  like  a  muddy  mill- 
pond;  and  there  was  no  gainsaying  the  fact  that 
there  were  three  pools  of  water  on  the  k'ang 
which  must  do  duty  for  a  place  for  us  to  eat  and 
sleep  until  the  floods  subsided.  As  I  watched, 
the  second  of  the  wee  legs  of  the  k'ang  table  dis- 
appeared in  the  meeting  pools.  My  husband  slid 
gingerly  off  the  wet  k'ang,  and,  departing  into 
the  big  common  room  of  the  inn,  tried  to  push 
open  the  door  and  see  what  the  rain  was  doing. 
But  the  wind  almost  simultaneously  sent  in  a 
great  gust  of  water  and  blew  the  door  shut. 
Thus  routed  he  retreated  and  went  in  search  of 
the  boy  in  order  to  go  over,  once  more,  our 
much  diminished  larder,  in  the  hope  of  producing 
some  supper. 

At  last  he  returned  followed  by  the  boy,  who 
carried  an  old  and  cracked  willow  teapot.  By 
this  time  there  was  but  one  dry  spot  left  on  the 
k'ang.     Drawing  our  feet  up  under  our  chins. 


Summer  Rains  Again  219 

we  spread  out  our  scanty  fare  on  what  seemed 
the  only  other  dry  spot  in  the  universe — the  top 
of  the  k'ang  table.  We  munched  on  unleavened 
cakes  and  drank  the  tea. 

That  meal — as  most  of  the  others  we  had  eaten 
in  those  last  seven  days — was  soon  over  and  we 
sat  there — as  we  had  so  much  of  the  time  during 
those  days, — listening  to  the  rain.  We  watched 
the  room  grow  dim.  The  little  god  standing  in 
its  accustomed  place,  crude  and  bizarre  in  the 
daylight,  looked  down  on  us — a  figure  of  soft 
gold;  some  one  was  carrying  a  light  through  the 
courtyard,  making  our  paper  window  panes  glow 
like  living  pearls.  "  It's  odd,"  I  mused  to  my- 
self, "  how  companionship  deepens  when  we  are 
shut  away  like  this." 

"Listen,"  said  my  husband,  "it  has  stopped 
raining."  And  we  hurried  off  to  look  at  the 
sky.  As  we  stepped  out  into  the  court  we  saw 
the  stars  were  out.  The  inn-keeper  came  towards 
us.  "  He  says  the  storm  is  over,"  translated  my 
husband.  "  That  means  we  can  be  on  the  road 
in  the  morning.  These  floods  go  down  very 
rapidly." 


220    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  said  and  laughed  joy- 
ously, "  we've  passed  the  great  test  all  unbe- 
knownst to  ourselves." 

"  What  test?  "  I  asked,  bewildered. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  the  saying?  "  he  asked. 
"  Two  men  going  off  on  a  trip  always  claim  that 
if  they  go  through  a  few  weeks  of  all  sorts  of 
difficulties — rains  and  floods  and  bad  inns  and 
poor  food  and  no  other  white  men  but  each 
other  to  talk  to  and  don't  have  a  genuine  quarrel, 
they  are  sure  enough  friends  for  life." 


CHAPTER  XII 

OF  MOMENTS  WHEN  WE  HAVE  CAUGHT, 
HERE  IN  THIS  CIVILIZATION  THAT  IS 
OLD  AND  SIMPLE,  THE  SPIRIT  OF  YOUTH, 
AND  A  LAMENT  OVER  THE  NEW  ERA 
WHICH  CROWDS  IT  OUT. 


The  China  of  two  thousand  years  has  passed  away. 
The  picture  is  doubtless  welcome  to  some  .  .  .  but  to 
the  artist  and  philosopher  it  probably  brings  regrets. 

— Rov/LAND  R.  Gibson. 

We  reached  the  inn,  our  night's  stopping-place, 
about  an  hour  ago.  We  are  fortunate  to-night 
for  we  have  a  room  to  ourselves.  We  are  at 
rest  after  the  all-day's  ride  in  a  primitive  Chinese 
cart.  We  have  shed  our  heavy  shoes,  putties  and 
riding  suits  for  soft  kimonos.  It  is  very  quiet 
and  clean  in  this  inner  court  of  the  inn;  through 
the  many-paned  paper  windows  the  moon  is 
shining;  through  one  broken  and  frayed  paper 
pane  the  cool  night  wind  blows;  our  candle 
sputters  and  flares.    From  the  distance,  as  if  shut 

22Z 


222     Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

6f£  by  the  space  of  quiet  in  the  courtyard  comes 
the  eerie  music  of  a  street-theater.  We  are 
possessed  of  that  strange  contentment  so  natural 
to  the  inveterate  wanderer.  It  is  a  sort  of  spirit 
of  youth. 

Suddenly  my  memory  gives  a  leap  and  I  see 
in  the  candle  flame  a  whole  host  of  phantom 
children.  Once  I  touched  an  accidental  spring; 
a  door  flew  open  and  I  had  stepped  into  the  very 
heart  of  childhood.  It  was  a  brief  never-to-be- 
forgotten  hour  so  joyous,  so  sweet  that  its  per- 
fume still  lingers  in  my  grown-up  world.  It 
happened  in  Peking. 

It  was  in  the  hot  summer  but  the  cool  of  the 
evening — the  time  when  the  mothers  go  to  walk 
with  their  naked  babies.  The  sun  had  thrown 
her  last  rays  of  yellow  light  over  the  yellow  roofs, 
watch-towers,  and  walls  of  the  Imperial  City, 
which  lay  as  the  golden  heart  of  the  gray-roofed, 
gray-walled,  gray  dust-streeted  Eastern  city. 
The  golden  glory  was  fast  fading  into  the  eve- 
ning and  the  common  gray  of  all  Peking.  Men 
drowsed  in  the  heavy,  gray-stoned  doorways  and 
open  shop  fronts.     There  was  the  dull  rumble 


A  Lament  Over  the  New  Era     223 

of  the  heavy  wheels  of  the  Peking  carts,  the 
pat  of  many  bare  feet,  the  cries  of  an  Oriental 
city,  but  no  new  spirit  stirred  the  usual  life 
of  the  Eastern  evening,  though  I  had  heard  it 
whispered  over  the  city  all  day  that  this  was 
the  children's  night;  every  street  had  been  gay 
with  the  shops'  display  of  lotus  lanterns  like  the 
real,  rose-colored  buds  that  lay  at  this  season  of 
the  year  on  the  waters  of  the  moat  around  the 
Forbidden  City. 

When  I  inquired  of  the  old  gateman  as  to  the 
meaning  of  the  night  I  was  told  it  was  the 
Lotus  Festival,  a  thing  for  children,  not  for 
grownups — and  he  settled  with  a  sigh  to  his 
water-pipe.  So  every  one  answered  me.  I  was 
baffled  but  something  within  me  called  out  for  a 
part,  so  I  too  sat  in  the  dark  doorway  or  moved 
restlessly  about  in  the  dust  of  the  street,  fearful 
lest  this  festival  should  be  in  the  courtyards 
behind  the  closed  gates  where  no  glimpse  would 
reach  me  over  the  high  walls. 

Then  the  moon  rose  high  over  the  curving 
Peking  roofs  and  flooded  the  street;  as  if  the 
moon  had  brought  him,  a  child  came  timidly 


224    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

forth  from  one  of  the  dark,  massive  gateways. 
In  his  hand  he  held  a  brilliant  lotus  bud;  then 
as  if  they  had  only  waited  for  a  braver  child, 
from  every  silent  gateway  all  up  and  down  that 
street  the  children  came  forth.  A  new  Piper 
was  piping  a  new  lay,  trailing  light  in  the  place 
of  music  and  once  more  the  children  obeyed  him. 
The  air  was  filled  with  the  lilt  of  their  happy 
voices;  there  was  the  sound  of  their  feet  in  the 
dust.  Flocking,  crowding,  running  they  came, 
each  clasping  a  magically  flickering  lotus  bud. 
Soon  the  street  was  childhood's  land,  full  of 
color,  sound,  and  happiness.  Still  they  came: 
children  in  brilliant  silk  garments, '  children  in 
rags,  little  naked  brown  children — all  with  the 
sesame  of  the  brilliant  lotus  bud.  The  lotus 
glowed  throwing  soft  light  up  into  childish  faces; 
it  illumined  the  very  soul  of  childhood,  shining 
through  the  eyes  of  those  countless  children. 
Then  the  joyous  crowd  at  the  new  Piper's  back 
turned  into  other  streets  and  ever  the  crowd  of 
breathless,  joyous  children  and  lovely  flowers 
increased. 

I   mingled   in   the   crowd,   and   warm,   little 


A  Lament  Over  the  New  Era     225 

hands  were  slipped  into  mine  as  I  relighted  wind- 
blown candles.  I  was  held  in  the  warm,  joyous 
heart  of  childhood.  Life  for  me  was  renewed  at 
its  very  source.  Pain  and  loss  were  banished. 
There  was  only  that  marvelous  joy  of  the  chil- 
dren. It  was  as  if  those  myriads  of  tiny,  soft 
hands  had  forever  broken  the  bondage  of 
sorrow  and  striving  and  pain  of  the  grown-up 
world. 

For  a  brief,  joyous  hour  like  fairy  elves  they 
frolicked  with  the  moon  riding  high  over  the 
Peking  roofs.  Then  the  candles  burned  low  and 
one  by  one  sputtered  and  went  out.  As  quickly 
as  they  came  the  children  vanished.  The  street 
was  again  still  and  gray.  The  new  Piper,  like 
the  old,  had  led  his  hosts  away.  But  often  in 
moments  like  this,  in  wide  stretches  on  a  long 
trail  in  the  moonlight  or  morning  mists  when- 
ever simplicity  rules  my  spirit,  I  hear  again  the 
far-off  murmur  of  childhood. 

I  heard  it  this  morning.  Very  early  we  took 
the  ferry  across  the  river.  There  was  a  shower 
and  the  morning  mists  still  lay  over  the  river 
when  the  3un  breaking  through  the  black  clouds 


226    Pioneering  Where  the  World  Is  Old 

sent  a  rift  of  shimmering  light  across  the  water 
and  through  the  mists. 

One  by  one  the  junks  went  sailing  through 
that  track  of  light  with  men's  dark  figures  pull- 
ing in  rhythmic  motion  at  wind-blown  sails. 
Everywhere  man  was  in  glorious  motion,  glori- 
ous freedom.  No  one  was  a  tender  of  machinery 
down  in  a  dark  hold.  Each  boat  sailed  with 
fancy-free  fervor  across  the  golden  light  in  the 
center  of  the  river.  A  naked  boy  came  along 
the  shore,  singing  a  shrill  morning  song. 

But  the  financier  has  already  decreed  that 
China  shall  become  a  great  industrial  nation.  It 
has  been  prophesied,  "  a  network  of  steel  and 
sleepers  is  about  to  be  thrown  over  the  land.  No 
longer  shall  we  see  the  still  tropic  stars  except 
through  the  smoke  of  the  furnace  chimney." 
Already  as  the  moon  rises  over  the  curving  roofs 
it  throws  into  relief  the  smoking  furnace-chim- 
ney. Soon  steamboats  with  their  smokestacks 
will  take  the  place  of  the  wind-blown  junk.  A 
hundred  miles,  which  it  now  takes  days  of  sail- 
ing, polling,  towing  to  make,  will  be  done  in  a 
few  short  hours,    Gone  will  be  the  slow  climb 


A  Lament  Over  the  New  Era     227 

up  these  Chinese  rivers  but  gone  also  will  be  the 
slowness  which  gives  time  for  each  hill  to  write 
its  memory  within  us.  There  will  be  the  factory 
whistle  calling  long  lines  of  workers  and  the 
naked  boy  and  his  shrill  morning  song  will 
disappear. 

The  innate  wanderer  is  doubtless  a  barbarian. 
We  sigh  at  the  encroachments  of  industrialism. 
We  do  not  like  to  think  that  the  wandering 
grounds  of  the  earth  with  their  re-creating  ex- 
periences are  little  by  little  disappearing.  Keep 
on,  little  singer  of  the  way.  Let  us  defy  them 
as  long  as  we  can.  The  wind  on  your  brown 
skin,  the  freedom  to  sing — what  would  fill  their 
place  ? 


THE  END 


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